


Give It Two Weeks

by SilverThunder



Series: GITW Verse [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 117,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverThunder/pseuds/SilverThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yata's job at Homra Coffee House meant everything to him, and he wasn't about to let any kind of disrespect slide. Fushimi was just looking for a cup of coffee that didn't taste like shit, not a rant about brand loyalty. Getting off on the wrong foot was an understatement - and that daily challenge board between their workplaces wasn't going to make things any better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my amazing beta readers, [Marudyne](http://dropletons.tumblr.com/) and [Candylit](http://candylit.tumblr.com/). I couldn't have done this without your help, and I am forever grateful for everything you've done for me!

It was half past seven when the first customer of the day set foot in the Homra Coffee House, setting off the strategically placed bells at the doorway and stirring Yata out of the standing dose he’d fallen into behind the counter. He made an effort to straighten, the echo of Kusanagi’s last lecture still sharp in his mind, and forced a smile. “Welcome!”

The customer didn’t bother to look up from where he was folding his umbrella. Yata hadn’t even noticed it was raining out – it had been kind of threatening to when he’d rolled in on his skateboard at a quarter to seven, but he’d been tired enough as he walked through the motions of opening the shop that it didn’t quite register when it started.

There was no one else in there – _yet_ – but the rush could start any second, and no one else was in until eight. He had to stay on his toes.

Having finished tucking his umbrella to his satisfaction, the guy who’d just come in stepped up towards the counter, raising his head to frown with irritable discontent, like the miserable weather had somehow been Yata’s fault. He was handsome in a kind of pale, slight way – all fine bones and slender limbs – with dark, haphazardly styled hair and clear blue eyes set in a face that looked like it belonged on the cover of a woman’s magazine offset by sparkles. Combined with the pair of old-fashioned wide-rimmed glasses, hunched posture, and unpleasant expression, it wasn’t nearly as impressive as it probably could’ve been.

Somehow, the guy’s appearance was striking, though. Yata wasn’t too sure what it was about him, but the set of contrasts was oddly fascinating. _Wonder if he works near here or something._ Homra had only been open for three months, so it was possible they’d just never crossed paths before.

The guy came straight up to the counter and deliberately looked _down_ at him, from a height difference that was way too obvious even with the slouch, considering they were probably about the same age.

… All right, maybe he wasn’t so fascinating, after all.

“Large Americano,” the customer muttered at him, ignoring his initial greeting altogether and making no attempt to be even remotely pleasant. “Double. To go.”

Yata felt his eyebrow twitch. _Oi… don’t take your bad mood out on me…_ He made an effort to control his annoyance, turning to grab one of the large to-go cups. “Coming right up!”

There was the ruffle of clothing behind him, along with the sound of an exasperated breath, but his customer said nothing.

_Whatever._ As long as he wasn’t bitching, they could just get this over with quickly and be done with it. Yata covered a yawn with his hand, going through the motions that had been painstakingly drilled into him when they’d first set up the machines and were getting ready to open for business. This kind of stuff – manual work, customer service – wasn’t bad. You got some annoying people, sure, but the work was the kind of stuff he was used to, and you couldn’t beat the company on the job.

_Plus, Homra is just awesome!_

He was proud of this place – all the work that had gone into renovating and cleaning and getting everything put together the way Anna had wanted it. Well, more like how Kusanagi had wanted it, since he’d done all the concrete planning, but it was Anna’s vision, and Yata was dedicated to seeing it through and making it a huge success. He owed her that much, in the end. She was the one who’d brought everything back together – through a lot of hardship and grief – and her strength and determination was his biggest inspiration.

It was something to keep him going through those early shifts, anyway.

“All right!” The drink was done; Yata pressed the lid into place and slid on the heat sleeve, smile feeling more real and less forced as he turned with the cup in hand. “One large double Americano, to – !”

The words died, smile freezing on his face as he took in the sight in front of him.

His unpleasant customer was standing with his jacket undone, the work shirt and vest beneath now plainly visible. And stitched onto the upper left side of the vest with unmarred precision and clarity was a symbol Yata had personally seared onto his brain with a vengeance.

Scepter 4’s Internet Café.

Open for business as of three days ago.

Less than a fucking _block_ from Homra.

In other words, competition. Or, as Yata liked to think, _the enemy_.

The unpleasant revelation was still stirring around in his brain when the offender in question let out another irritated-sounding sigh. “What’s your problem?”

That was enough to snap him out of it. Yata scowled back, holding the drink out of reach behind the counter. “What’s _my_ problem?” he repeated. “Hah! What’s _your_ problem? Why are you even here?” Even as he asked, a thought occurred to him – he narrowed his eyes with flat suspicion. “Trying to steal our secrets already, huh? Well, fat chance of that, asshole – not on my watch!” He made a fist of his free hand and thumped it against his chest.

The frown on his opponent’s face deepened with a mix of incredulity and something like disgust. “What are you going on about?” He made an obnoxious clicking noise with his tongue, gaze flattening with annoyance. “Are you an idiot?”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yata straightened, trying to make up some of the difference in height with a little good old fashioned intimidation. “Nice try, thinking you can come in here and make a fool of Yatagarasu! I can see right through you!”

The guy just stared at him, expression going flat, and then heaved a sigh. “Like I said… an idiot.”

“ _Hah?_ ” That nonchalant attitude was starting to piss him off. Yata moved to lean over the counter, curling his lip in a sneer and aiming a dangerous glare at his opponent. “You wanna say that again, asshole?”

He got a condescending look from above him – way too fucking high above him; this was seriously not fair. “Is this how you treat every customer?”

That actually gave him a start, because – hell – Kusanagi probably was going to be pretty mad if he found out about this, Scepter 4 spy or no. And the momentary hesitation on his part gave his opponent just enough opportunity to snatch the to-go cup from his now-uncertain grip.

“Hey – !”

The cup was swiftly propelled away from him as the guy turned to the side, dropping a small handful of change onto the counter from his other hand. “Based on the current tax rate, that should be enough,” he drawled, turning his gaze deliberately away from Yata’s furious glare. “Feel free to keep the extra if I counted wrong.”

He was already stepping away from the counter, pulling his umbrella from under his arm, as Yata snarled, “bastard!” at his retreating back. He didn’t bother to look back, snapping the object in question open one-handed while pushing the door out with his shoulder.

“You’d better not come back here!” Yata snapped after him, irritated at his own lack of control over the incident. “Hear that, you dirty spy? Don’t come back!”

The bells on the door jingled again as it swung closed.

 

* * *

 

 

The incident ended up being pushed out of his head entirely by the morning rush, arriving just before Bandou and Shouhei came in to help with the stream of customers. When Kusanagi arrived later on, he made his entrance pushing Totsuka’s wheelchair through the door as Anna held it, and the unexpected sight of that warm smile after a week of its owner’s absence pretty much ensured that Yata wasn’t thinking about annoying guys from Scepter 4 for the rest of the day.

“The specialist was really pretty – you’d have liked her, Bandou-kun,” Totsuka informed them, all casual cheer as usual. “Oh, and she had candy in her office, so maybe even Yata would’ve liked it, huh?”

“Come on, Totsuka-san!” he protested. “I’m twenty years old – don’t treat me like some kinda kid!”

“Ah, sorry, sorry!”

It wasn’t until the next day that the grumpy asshole from before came back into his head – right about the time that sad grumpy asshole came back into the coffee shop, actually.

They were just through the initial wave of the morning rush, so Yata was on auto-pilot when he turned at the sound of the familiar jingle, starting with a cheerful, “Wel – ” The word died on his lips as he set eyes on that awkwardly striking face again. “ _You!_ ”

The guy’s thin lips turned down into a scowl; he clicked his tongue. “You again,” he muttered, clearly out of sorts, and slunk almost warily forward. “Do you work here every day or something?”

“Don’t act like _I’m_ the problem, asshole!” Yata braced his palms flat on the counter, glowering up at his opponent. “You’ve got some nerve, showing your face here after that stunt you pulled yesterday!”

“Right. How dare I order and pay for a coffee.” That stupid drawling tone was back, along with the condescending look from behind those thick-framed glasses. “Are you going to actually serve me this time, or should I wait until someone with enough of a brain to handle it shows up?”

Hot anger was clouding Yata’s brain. “Listen, you – ”

“Yata-san!” Kamamoto’s voice interrupted, from the direction of the back room. When Yata glanced up at him automatically, he was standing just outside the door, glancing between the two of them with his eyebrows furrowed in alarm. “What’s the problem?”

“This guy” – Yata immediately turned back, lifting a hand to point accusingly at his opponent’s chest – “is from Scepter 4.” He spat that out with as much contempt as he could muster, waiting for the show of solidarity from his friend.

Waiting…

After what felt like an eternity – seriously, what was the fucking hold-up? – Kamamoto asked, in a tone of voice that was way too calm for the situation, “And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?” Yata rounded on him, hands clenching into fists as he lifted them from the counter. “Those assholes are our competition, remember?”

Kamamoto shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, but… Kusanagi-san…”

The guy at the counter clicked his tongue, in that obnoxious way he’d done before. “Can one of you two boneheads serve me already? I can feel my brain cells dying just standing next to you.”

“Ah… right! Coming right up!” Kamamoto straightened, moving for the till, but was forced to stop as Yata planted himself squarely in the way, hands braced on his hips.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, dumbass?”

“Yata-san!” Kamamoto protested, looking mildly distraught.  “He’s a customer – Kusanagi-san’s going to have our heads if we – ”

The jingle of the door interrupted him; when Yata turned his head, it was in time to see Anna step into the building, followed immediately by Kusanagi. The older man blinked as he took in the scene in front of him, eyeing them curiously. “What’s going on here, boys?”

“K-Kusanagi-san!” Kamamoto looked abashed. “I was – this is just – ”

“Quit being so damn lame about it!” Yata snapped at him, and then faced his older friend – and boss – with determination. “Kusanagi-san, this guy is – ”

“Saruhiko.” Anna stepped forward before he could finish, turning a small but welcoming smile on the guy at the counter. “It’s been a while.”

He looked a little put-out when he met her gaze, but when he spoke, his voice had definitely dropped the hostile note. “Oh. It’s you, huh?”

Her smile gained another degree of warmth. “It’s nice to see you.” All at once, she leaned forward in a polite bow. “Thank you again for your help.”

He gave an almost imperceptible shrug, turning his gaze down towards the counter as if to avoid looking at her. “They pay me to do that sort of thing, you know,” he mumbled.

“I know.” She straightened. “Still, thank you.”

Yata had just barely managed to scrape his wits up from where they’d scattered across the floor by that point; he glanced between the two of them with shock. “Wait… You – you two _know_ each other?”

“Fushimi helped out quite a bit with Anna’s inheritance struggle,” Kusanagi explained, lifting the hinged counter to cross over to the other side. “We would’ve been in quite the pinch without him – right, Fushimi?” He directed a friendly smile across the counter.

Yata rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a little uneasy with the current development. _Shit… I called him a spy and everything._ This couldn’t be good. “Ah… I-is that right?” He risked a glance in the direction of his unfortunate customer.

Another one of those small shrugs followed; the guy was avoiding both of their gazes, tapping a finger on the counter with obvious agitation. “Like I said, it’s just part of my job.”

“Well, we’re grateful anyway.” Kusanagi moved to lift the counter before Homra’s underage owner could just duck under it – he’d been trying to cure her of that habit for a month now without much success. “But I’m guessing you’re not here for a social visit?”

Another one of those annoying tongue clicks was the initial response. “Can I just get my coffee?”

A light touch on Yata’s wrist had him jerking a bit; he turned a startled gaze down at Anna as she looked up at him meaningfully and said, “Misaki.”

“A-Ah… right!” He shook his head a bit, managing to look back up at his customer with a sheepish sort of smile, hoping it would count as something of an apology. “Sorry. Large double Americano, to go?”

Honestly, he mostly expected this prickly guy to kick up a fuss about his earlier rudeness, so it surprised him when all he got was a flat, unimpressed stare, and the clink of change hitting the counter.

_At least he’s not ratting me out…_ Still, the behavior was kind of unnerving.  Yata turned, skin prickling up as he felt that unfriendly gaze settling on his back while he grabbed the cup and started making the drink. He’d never been so aware of any customer before – but then, this situation was weird as hell. He didn’t really know what to make of this guy, with his contrasting appearance, condescending looks, pointed insults…

And then the lack of interest in reporting Yata’s bad behavior.

_Yeah. Definitely weird._

The drink was transferred across the counter with a certain amount of awkwardness. Yata felt a bit of an unfamiliar tingling shooting up from his hand where it brushed against those pale, slender fingers. He looked up and met his customer’s cool blue eyes for just a second – a second of almost uncomfortable clarity – and then the guy was turning away, heading for the door without so much as a ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye’.

_Rude bastard._ Yata made a soft ‘ch’ under his breath, tearing his eyes from that thin, hunched back and trying to shrug off the weirdness.

Kusanagi had called that guy ‘Fushimi’, and Anna had said ‘Saruhiko’. So… Fushimi Saruhiko.

He was definitely going to remember that name.

 

* * *

 

 

It turned out to be another three days before he saw Fushimi again. Yata worked the closing shift the next day – Saturday – and Homra had limited hours and a skeleton staff on Sunday, so that was his day off – which he ended up spending on the latest Empire of Death game installment, almost by accident (chasing down achievements was too goddamn addicting).

As a result of that, he was feeling more than a little fuzzy-headed as he went through the motions of opening the shop, and when Fushimi walked in as the first customer of the day, his initial reaction was to freeze up and just blink at him.

_Again…?_

Fushimi’s eyes went flat when their gazes met; he clicked his tongue. “Oh, it’s you.”

The phrase came out a lot more irritated than when he’d said something similar to Anna – not that Yata was keeping track or anything. “What, you’re here again?” He frowned back, feeling a little twinge of annoyance at the openly displayed logo on Fushimi’s vest. “Don’t you work at that Scepter 4 café?”

Fushimi raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “They must pay you quite a bit to stand there and state the obvious.”

“Shut up!” Yata snapped back, snatching up a large to-go cup from the stack. “I _mean_ , you work at a café – don’t they have coffee there?”

He could hear Fushimi approach the counter. “The coffee there sucks.”

Yata paused at the espresso machine, half turning to raise an eyebrow himself. “Is that really something you wanna go around telling the competition? Don’t you have any loyalty to your workplace?”

“Not really,” Fushimi responded, in that dull drawling tone. “It’s just a job. Besides, we’re an Internet café, not a coffee house. People don’t go there for drinks.”

That was news to him. Yata grunted in acknowledgement, absorbing that fact as he prepared the rest of the drink. To be honest, he hadn’t really known what an Internet café was – he’d just kind of assumed it was like a regular café, but with computers. Or something.

No way was he admitting that to this guy, though.

Still, there was something he needed to get off his chest. “By the way,” Yata said, pausing again in order to turn and face Fushimi again, mentally bracing himself as he did. “Sorry for… before.” It was kind of a struggle to get out the words, especially now that he was faced with that apathetic stare, but he couldn’t just leave it without saying anything. “And thanks for not – y’know – ratting me out.”

Fushimi’s frown deepened; he made that tongue clicking noise again. “I didn’t do that for _you_ ,” he muttered, gaze shifting off to the side. “I didn’t feel like standing around talking uselessly, that’s all.”

_Figures._ Yata turned back to the machine, feeling strangely dissatisfied with the exchange. “Well, whatever – thanks anyway.”

There was a lengthy moment of silence, during which Yata finished mixing the drink, trying to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of his neck that seemed to indicate that he was being watched. For some reason, Fushimi set him on edge. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but it was making him nervous, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that.

_I’m probably thinking about it too much._ He reached for the lid and sleeve, determined not to let the feeling get the better of him. _Not like we get rude assholes from our competition in here every day, right?_

“Hey,” Fushimi said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts unexpectedly, “you – Misaki. Does this place – ?”

Yata had to count himself lucky he hadn’t had the drink in his hands, because if he hadn’t spilled it everywhere when he spun furiously back around, he definitely would’ve crushed it when his hands clenched into fists. “Where the _fuck_ did you hear that name?”

Fushimi stared at him blankly for a brief second, then raised his eyebrows. “Did I touch a nerve?”

“Look, asshole…” Yata lowered his eyebrows into a glare, trying to throw every ounce of malice in his body into it. “Don’t _ever_ call me by that name, got it? I don’t know where you heard it, but get it out of your head right now!”

“That’s the only name I caught,” Fushimi drawled back, blandly. “Unless you count that ‘Yatagarasu’ nonsense. I’m not calling you that.”

The pit of annoyance growing within Yata seemed to expand exponentially. “The name is _Yata_ , okay? Got that? _Yata!_ ” He twisted his lips into as fierce a scowl as he could manage.

Fushimi met his glare evenly, seeming to turn that bit of information over in his head, and then his mouth turned up at the corners.

It was the first smile Yata had seen on his face so far, and it made his stomach do a little flip. Not so much in a good way. That didn’t look like a pleasant smile, actually. Somehow, he had a bad feeling…

“If you say so,” Fushimi answered, almost breezily. “Can I have my coffee now?”

Yata eyed him suspiciously for another second, then turned to retrieve the almost-forgotten cup, fitting it with the lid and sleeve before turning back to set it on the counter. He expected Fushimi to just drop his change again, like the first two times, but apparently this time he didn’t feel the need, because he waited for Yata to ring it through the till and read him the total before holding out his hand and dropping the coins directly into Yata’s waiting palm.

It was a surprisingly normal interaction, actually. Yata relaxed a little. “Thanks.” Sliding back into customer service mode, he added automatically, “Have a nice day.”

Fushimi made a noncommittal sound in response. “By the way,” he said, carefully pulling the coffee back from the counter, “does this place do deliveries?”

“Huh?” Yata blinked, a little startled by the question. “Deliveries? Of what, coffee?”

“That is what you sell,” Fushimi pointed out, in that irritatingly condescending tone. He didn’t bother to wait for further response, turning to head for the door instead. “Well, never mind if you don’t know.” As he was pushing through the door, he turned his head, offered that same smirk from earlier, and added, “See you, _Misaki_.”

Yata’s thoughts screeched to a halt. He was recovering from the shock, rage tinting his vision with red and starting to sputter out a furious, “Hey – wait, you – _bastard_ – ” when the door swung shut.

The jingle of the bells as it closed sounded almost like mockery.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t care what you say – that guy is an _asshole_!” Yata seethed, furiously scrubbing at the coffee stains on the front counter that were left from the last rush. “Who the hell just goes ahead and does something like that after you ask them not to, huh?”

Kamamoto shrugged. “Well,” he started, “you were kind of rude to him when you noticed he was from Scepter 4, right?”

“What’s this?” Kusanagi asked sharply, pushing through the door from the back room.

“N-nothing important!” Yata turned to shoot a discreet glare at Kamamoto, who looked properly abashed. “Anyway, I don’t see what’s so special about that guy! He barely even said anything when Anna was going out of her way to thank him.” He slid the cloth off of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest with a sharp, frustrated exhale. “And he’s always talking in this super slow voice, like he thinks he’s better than everyone. It’s annoying!”

“Fushimi, huh?” Kusanagi looked a bit amused. “Well, he’s a pretty closed person, but I think it’s more that he has some trouble expressing himself. He did help us out of a tight spot, after all.”

That was a story Yata hadn’t asked about yet, and honestly, he was kind of curious. Still… “He said that was just his job, right?”

“It’s not just that,” Anna piped in; when he glanced down to where she was standing just behind Kusanagi, her expression was earnest. “Saruhiko worked very hard for us. He put all of his best effort into it, and didn’t stop even at night.”

Kusanagi spread his hands with a little shrug. “There you have it. I get the feeling praise makes him uncomfortable, is all.”

“By the way, Kusanagi-san,” Kamamoto cut in, before Yata could find something to respond to that with. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that ‘work’ you mentioned. I thought that guy worked at the Internet café just down the street.” He scratched his head. “I wouldn’t think a place like that would do the kind of things you were talking about.”

“He probably had a different job before that, dumbass,” Yata cut in, impatiently. “They just opened like a week ago, right?”

“Well… yes and no.” Kusanagi pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapping one loose. “Truthfully, Scepter 4’s been around a lot longer than that. The café bit is probably more of a sideline – and an excuse to give them a physical base of operations.”

Okay, that… actually sounded kind of cool, Yata had to admit. Reluctantly. “So, what, they’re like spies or something?” Maybe he’d actually been right about Fushimi, after all. Sort of.

“Not exactly.” The rest of the pack was tucked back away; Kusanagi reached for his lighter instead, setting the unlit cigarette between his lips. “They’re… hm… I guess you could call them a sort of cyber services unit. They take the kinds of jobs that call for counteracting hackers and uncovering forged documentation or records. Probably a number of other things, too.”

Anna tugged at his arm as he raised the lighter. “Izumo.”

“Right. Sorry.” He lowered it again, a sheepish sort of smile spreading on his face. “I’m still too used to smoking inside.”

Back in the days of the Homra bar… Yata felt a little pang at that, but brushed it aside. Those days were in the past – and they’d been good days, but now was just as good, in its own way. Anna’s Homra was a Homra he could proudly help support, rather than ignorantly enjoying a carefree lifestyle like before.

The current situation was worth everything, in the end.

And, supposedly, Fushimi had played some part in that. “Well, I guess that guy’s not a total creep,” Yata admitted, grudgingly. The undercover cyber agent thing was definitely cool, too. When he thought back to Fushimi’s initial appearance in the shop, with his tall, slender good looks all totally undermined by his terrible personality, somehow that extra piece of knowledge seemed to click.

Still, he wasn’t ever going to admit to thinking that guy was cool. Not in a million years. “He’d better not use that fucking name again, though!”

Kusanagi shot him an amused look. “Fushimi didn’t strike me as the casual type,” he commented. “You should be flattered, Yata-chan – it sounds like maybe he’s taken a liking to you.”

“Huh?” Somehow, that comment set off a little spark of feeling in his stomach that spread out to his skin in prickles. Yata crossed his arms defensively, twisting his lips into a sneer to cover it. “No way! That guy’s always so damn pissy whenever he comes in here.” He could still clearly see the dismissive glances and hear that reluctant muttering; somehow, it made his blood feel like it was boiling. “Seriously, it’s like he goes out of his way to be as annoying as possible.”

“Ah, I see.” Kusanagi was giving him that look – the one that meant he knew something Yata didn’t, but he wasn’t going to come out and say it. “He’s been in a few times, then?”

He didn’t really see where this was going. “Yeah, three times now. So what?”

The door chime went off before he could get an answer. Yata turned automatically to the counter again, starting on his greeting before he’d properly looked up. “Hey, welcome to – “

The rest of it kind of fell out of his brain when he took in the pair at the door: a tall man with dark hair, glasses, and a confident smile on his face; and a woman with neatly styled blond hair, business-like attire and a stern expression. They were a striking couple, but that wasn’t the part that grabbed his attention. Both of them were wearing expensive-looking blue blazers with a very familiar logo emblazoned clearly on the front.

Scepter 4.

It wasn’t like he had a reason to kick up any kind of fuss over it, even if Kusanagi hadn’t been standing right there, but the sight still gave him a little twinge of irritable discomfort. “ – Homra,” Yata finished with considerably diminished enthusiasm, eyeing the two of them warily as they approached the counter.

“Good afternoon,” the man responded, pleasantly enough. Still, somehow both his gaze and tone had Yata’s hackles up, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m afraid I’m not here for a hot drink today – perhaps later, if time permits. However, my intention is to speak with your superior.”

_My what now?_ The way this guy talked was weirdly formal. Yata furrowed his eyebrows, tossing a dubious glace towards where his older friend stood. “Uh…”

“I heard.” Kusanagi stepped up beside him, leaning a hand on the counter. His expression was wry. “Something I can help you with, Munakata?”

“It’s my hope that this will be a mutually beneficial suggestion.” The man – Munakata? – smiled placidly back. “Although perhaps it would be best to discuss this with Kushina-san and yourself in private.” He inclined his head politely towards Anna.

Kusanagi shifted back to set his hands on his hips, and glanced in the same direction. “What do you think, Anna?”

Her face was indecipherable, but she gazed steadily back at the newcomer. “I’d like to hear what Reisi has to say.”

“That’s what I figured.” Kusanagi sighed, smiled a bit ruefully, and then moved to the side again, lifting the hinged counter and waving a hand towards the door that led into the back. “Come on in, then.”

“Please pardon the intrusion.” Their visitor stepped confidently through, following Anna into the back room. The woman strode after him, back straight and pace brisk.

Kusanagi lowered the counter. “Try to avoid the back room for a while if you can, boys,” he instructed, already moving to push through the door himself.

There was a moment of what would have been silence, if not for the buzz of conversation from the customers seated at some of the tables.

Yata glanced at Kamamoto, who looked about as confused as he felt. “What the hell do you think that was?”

He got a shrug in response. “No idea.”

There was no way this had something to do with Fushimi, right? Yata turned his frown on the door, trying to figure out if there was some connection he’d missed. “Wonder if that guy’s his supervisor or something…”

“What’s that, Yata-san?” Kamamoto had apparently moved to pull up the spare cups from under the counter while his attention was diverted. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Never mind.” There was no point thinking about it too much – anyway, he didn’t care about that guy, right? Yata straightened, deliberately not looking at the door again. “You restock and I’ll finish cleaning.”

“Roger!”

It ended up being another half hour or so before that Munakata guy and the woman who’d come with him emerged from the back room, followed by Kusanagi – although with Yata’s curiosity tugging at him the whole time, somehow it seemed longer. He was prepping drinks for a group of college students when they finally did come out, so he caught it when the woman paused and said, in a voice as cool and stern as her appearance, “I should have the first batch of orders to you by eight tomorrow, so make sure you have someone ready.”

“Not a problem, Seri-chan,” Kusanagi responded easily. “We’ll be good to go on our end – any time you are.”

“Is that so?” She sounded more than a little skeptical. “You’re sure you don’t need me to send someone to pick them up?”

“I think our guy can handle making several trips – it’s not all that far, after all.”

The woman let out a short, sharp breath. “Still…”

“Awashima-kun,” Munakata interjected, polite and confident. “I believe we can leave this in Kusanagi-kun’s hands for the time being. Please reserve your complaints until after we’ve had a chance to see how the process works.”

“Appreciate the show of confidence.” Somehow, that easy tone didn’t sound quite as easy any more. Yata looked up in time to catch the sharp smile Kusanagi directed at Munakata.

“Certainly.” Munakata returned the smile with perfect calm. “I look forward to working with you.” His gaze shifted, meeting Yata’s for a brief instant.

_Fuck._ Yata jerked his head forward again, fumbling for the lids.

The two left as he was finishing up with the customers, and by the time he’d dealt with all of that, Kusanagi had retreated to the back and Fujishima had arrived – just ahead of the lunchtime rush. The rest of the shift went by rapidly after that.

“Yata-chan,” Kusanagi approached him as he was hanging up his apron, “this is probably a given, but make sure you bring your skateboard in for tomorrow, would you?”

“Yeah, of course!” It wasn’t like he went anywhere without it. Yata raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you ask?”

“Anna’s agreed to a little business arrangement.” Kusanagi offered him a shrug and a smile. “You’d be up for doing a few deliveries through the day, right? It’s probably more your thing than working the counter, anyway,” he mused, almost as an afterthought.

That sounded about right – being able to get out and feel the wind on his face was better than most things, especially serving customers. Yata straightened, not having to force the real surge of enthusiasm as he grinned back. “Leave it to me, Kusanagi-san!” Something kind of nagged at him, though… _Deliveries, huh?_ Where had he heard that before? “Wait, what am I delivering?”

“Coffee – or, well, depends on the orders, but you get the idea.” Kusanagi frowned thoughtfully. “We should have enough of the travel trays. Anyway, you’ve got pretty good balance, right, Yata-chan?”

“Delivering coffee?” Okay, that definitely sounded familiar – he distinctly remembered being asked about coffee deliveries at some point. Someone with a condescending tone and a bad atti –

_Wait a second…_

“Hold on – Kusanagi-san…“ A terrible suspicion was growing fast in his head. “This place I’m delivering to – it’s not actually – ”

“Hm? I figured you’d have guessed by now.” Kusanagi smiled at him, as if there was nothing at all wrong with any of this. “It’ll be Scepter 4.”

Scepter fucking 4. _Again._

The earlier enthusiasm felt like it was draining off of him at record speed. Yata stared back incredulously, dread taking root at the pit of his stomach. “Are you serious? You’re joking, right?”

“’Fraid not.” The smile took on a bit of an amused edge – although what could be _funny_ about this situation was beyond Yata. “You can probably guess from what I said earlier that brewing hot drinks is not their specialty. They figured it’d be more convenient for the customers if they could order from a place that provides a little more quality.” He shrugged again, spreading his hands. “That’s why their boss paid us a visit earlier – to set the whole thing up.”

“What the hell kind of café – wait, what?” Yata blinked at him, his earlier thoughts derailing. “That guy is seriously their _boss_? Like, the _main_ boss? The head guy in their spy team or whatever?”

Somehow, he’d kind of pictured someone a little cooler. Maybe with an eye patch or scars or something. That Munakata guy seemed like an overly polished office worker of some sort.

“That’s the guy,” Kusanagi confirmed. “Seri-chan – ah, I mean Awashima; that’s the woman he was with – is second-in-command, and Fushimi is third.”

“Huh? _Third?_ ” Yata couldn’t help but gape at that. The image of an unpleasant expression on a very attractive face flashed back through his head, and somehow the combination of that and _third-in-command of a secret spy team_ gave him a weird little shiver. He deliberately shrugged that feeling aside. “They put that asshole in charge of people? What are they, nuts?” He scowled, a little irritated with the way the knowledge seemed to click with what little he knew of Fushimi. “Anyway, isn’t he, like, my age or something?”

Kusanagi met his gaze evenly. “Yata-chan… you’re third in the line of command here, aren’t you?”

That little bit of truth always caught him off-guard. “That’s different! It’s not like we’re some kind of high-tech underground spy team, right?” On edge and defensive, the next words were out of his mouth before he could think to hold back. “Anyway, with Mikoto-san – ”

“Yata.” The sharp warning in Kusanagi’s voice was enough to halt him in mid-protest, even if that gaze hadn’t turned serious on him. “Don’t bring Mikoto into this. You know why he’s not getting involved with us.”

The old edge of an ache throbbed dimly somewhere in Yata’s chest; he fought the urge to look away from the solemn, almost saddened expression on his older friend’s face. “Yeah. I got it.”

It wasn’t like he was going to forget his resolve. Mikoto may have been his hero, but right now, Anna was most important. This was where he was needed the most, and he wasn’t about to waste time with regrets. Maybe there was something he could’ve done to change things back then if he’d tried to understand the people around him better, but dwelling on it now wouldn’t help.

Kusanagi’s expression softened a bit. “Good.” He patted Yata on the shoulder, and the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly. “Go on ahead, and we’ll see you tonight if you’re coming back.”

Yata managed to summon up a grin at that, feeling his mood lift again. “For sure!”

When it came to Homra, he was always coming back.

 

* * *

 

 

His first delivery to Scepter 4 ended up having to be made in two stages; there were more drink orders than he could carry without danger of spilling them all. All in all, though, it wasn’t too difficult for someone like him. Yata coasted along at a comfortable pace, balancing the full travel trays without too much trouble.

_Hopefully I can just drop these things off at the front and not have to deal with that guy or anything._ The thought of seeing that pale, condescending face again was twisting in his stomach like it was trying to form knots.

There was a folded sign on the sidewalk up ahead, and Yata drifted to the other side before he’d reached it. Strangely, it didn’t seem to have a store logo or an advertisement on it – just a simple, printed message. He was going too fast to read it all, but he caught the words at the top as he went by: “Daily Challenge”.

Also, the unit it was sitting outside of was for rent, and the front window was dark and empty.

_Weird._

It was kind of cool, though – a mysterious challenge from some unknown source. Yata grinned a bit to himself, kicking off the ground to gain more speed. He wasn’t one to let a challenge pass him by, so maybe he’d take a look on the way back. As long as it wasn’t some kind of stupid math problem or something, it could be fun.

The grin faded as the blue and white logo of Scepter 4 came into view; Yata slowed his pace, rolling to a stop in front of the building and shifting his burden a little so he could free a couple of fingers to lift his skateboard.

The complex wasn’t any bigger than Homra’s from what he could see, but the appearance was totally different. Kusanagi had gone for a more old-fashioned look – kind of like his bar, back in the day – with a dark chestnut door and awning, little red accents here and there and the name embossed in gold. There were a few wooden tables outside, enclosed in a short metal fence, and the atmosphere – both inside and out – was friendly and warm. Scepter 4 was modern and elegant: slim lines and accents everywhere, an elaborate painting and engraving job imprinting the logo onto the building itself, and delicately paned glass on both the door and the single, large window, which you couldn’t see into.

It looked like the kind of place people with money went to.

_Don’t see what all the fuss is about._ Yata made an effort to soften the scowl that had spread over his face while he’d considered the place, shifting his burden yet again to try and manage the large metal door handle. Cool air wafted out as he fumbled it open.

“Welcome!” a brown-haired guy in a collared shirt and the trademark logo’d vest greeted him, from behind a desk just beyond the entryway. He offered a friendly-looking smile, but his posture was all professional and polite.

_Seriously, looks like it’d be a fucking drag working here…_ “Yeah, hey.” Yata raised the trays, feeling a little ridiculous now that he was standing here in this fancy-ass place in his shorts and T-shirt. Maybe he should’ve brought his apron or something.

_Whatever – it’s not like I’m here to work for them._

“Oh, you’re from Homra, right?” The guy at the desk was still smiling, so the clothing probably didn’t matter anyway. “Just wait one moment, please.” He reached down and plucked a handset from his belt, pressing a button and bringing it to his ear. “Lieutenant, the delivery is here.”

_Lieutenant?_ This place was weird. Yata took a second to glance around at the rest of the room, kind of curious despite himself. It didn’t look at all like any café he’d ever heard of. The lighting was a kind of white-blue, which mixed well with the marbled flooring and the combination of blue, white, and silver on the walls. There were paintings hanging around the room, fine art or something – Yata wouldn’t know one way or another – and the round cubicle desks with the sleek-looking monitors at them blended in with the décor so well he’d have thought the whole thing was built that way.

Hell, maybe it was. He wouldn’t doubt it at this point.

Along the back wall, there was a large line of bookshelves, tall and black and elegantly carved – and packed with books. There were a few armchairs strategically placed near them, and then a small nook with a counter, where another uniformed worker was standing at attention. Just beside that was a door – probably leading into some kind of back room, like they had at Homra.

There was an unnatural sort of hush hanging over the place, even though it was nearly full. As if everyone in the room were holding their breath.

Yata shifted on his feet, a little uneasy. This really wasn’t his kind of place at all.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, because the door at the back swung open, and the person he’d been hoping not to see stepped out into the room.

It felt like all the little hairs on the backs of Yata’s arms stood up at once; his stomach twisted up, and he had a sudden rush of nerves at the sight of Fushimi’s face. There it was: the usual half-bored eyes and tiny frown that had somehow burned themselves into Yata’s memory – but a memory still couldn’t quite compare to the original, right in front of his eyes.

_Fuck, of course he’d be the one to come out here…_ Yata scowled, more irritated at his own reaction than at whatever twist of fate had led to him having to deal with this on his first delivery. He wasn’t sure why he let this guy get to him so much. It was bugging the crap out of him.

Fushimi looked up and met his gaze, and something small and strange seemed to ignite in his belly.

There wasn’t a lot of space to think about the weirdness, though – Fushimi’s expression shifted barely a second later as he recognized Yata, settling into a blend of irritation and… something else, unrecognizable. “Seriously?” he muttered, just barely loud enough to be heard even with the lack of chatter in the room, and clicked his tongue. “Are you the only person who works at that place?”

Yata glowered back at him. “I’m the one who can get here fastest, jerk – deal with it.” He held up the drink trays meaningfully. “Here – coffee, as ordered.”

Fushimi stepped over to him without bothering to hurry, his gaze sliding to the objects in question almost lazily. Without the coat, Yata could see now that he was wearing a white button-up shirt under his vest, with the collar turned up and the sleeves pulled back from his wrists. His dark blue pants were fitted. Well fitted. He was really thin, Yata noticed. Tall and thin. Lanky. Or something.

Not like it mattered. “Come on, take ‘em.” He pushed the trays forward a bit, impatiently. “I’ve got more to bring, so – ”

“Are they labeled?” Fushimi interrupted him, in a kind of hateful drawl. He lifted his gaze back up to meet Yata’s. “A tray full of random drinks wouldn’t do us any good if we couldn’t match them to customers, would they?”

“Of course they’re labeled – the hell do you take us for?” Yata scowled back, thoroughly irritated now. “We used those stupid codes you guys messaged over, see?” He shifted one of the trays so the printed ‘C3’ on one of the cups was visible.

Fushimi barely spared it a glance. “Ah.” He raised his eyebrows condescendingly. “The cubicle number, you mean.”

Yata shot him a disgruntled glare. “How’d you expect me to know that, huh? Come on.” He held out the trays again. “Just hurry up and take ‘em already.”

There was a brief second’s pause, and then Fushimi reached out – finally – to take the drinks from him. “I guess you’re right – an idiot like you wouldn’t figure it out even with a chance to look at our setup.” He dipped his head a little, the hint of a mocking smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. “Would you, Misaki?”

There it was again. That knot of annoyance tightened up almost unbearably just beneath Yata’s chest. “I said not to use that name, asshole!” The outburst earned him a few startled looks from some of the patrons, and he could feel an edge of heat rising on his cheeks, making him self-conscious enough to lower his voice for the rest. “It’s creepy as hell, so cut it out!”

“Is it?” Fushimi’s tone was almost aggressively unconcerned. He lowered his eyelids, gazing back at Yata through a veil of surprisingly long lashes. “Or maybe you’re just trying to compensate for something… _Misaki_.”

The unexpected strike lit a fire in Yata’s belly, banishing the awkward restraint from earlier. “Shut up!” he snapped back, balling the hand that wasn’t still holding his skateboard into a fist and drawing himself up as much as he could. “I don’t wanna hear that from Mr. Act-like-a-gloomy-asshole-to-avoid-human-contact, anyway! You wanna talk about compensating for something, how about your pissy attitude, huh, _monkey?_ ”

He’d kind of had that insult on the back-burner in his mind – a combination of the name ‘Saruhiko’ and a commercial that turned up on his TV not long after they’d met, with a monkey mascot cheekily referred to as ‘O-Saru-san’. If anything, once it flew out of his mouth like that in the heat of the moment, he expected Fushimi to mock him for being a childish idiot – so he was bracing himself for that, and almost missed the way his opponent’s eyes widened in surprise, an audible intake of breath following the crude insult.

There was a brief but somehow very noticeable pause.

The majority of the anger that had clouded Yata’s thoughts evaporated in a hurry; something about that startled expression made him feel like his chest was constricting briefly. He released his fists, struck with sudden uncertainty. “H-hey…”

Fushimi’s gaze abruptly flattened; he clicked his tongue, frown deepening, and turned aside as if to indicate that he was done with Yata. “Start distributing these,” he said, thrusting the trays at the greeter, who was still standing awkwardly at the counter beside him. “I don’t have any more time to waste on idiots today.”

That kicked off the irritation again almost instantly; Yata scowled. “That goes double for me, asshole!”

Fushimi half turned, shooting him another condescending look. “Didn’t you say you had more drinks to deliver? You’d better hurry, or you’ll look even more incompetent than you already are, _Misaki_.”

“Fuck you!” Yata snarled back, glaring, and hefted his skateboard so that it was tucked under his arm instead of dangling from his fingers. “Damn monkey!”

This time, the insult barely seemed to register; Fushimi offered him another of those little mocking smiles, hummed low, and then turned with a kind of unruffled cool and strode back across the room without even acknowledging it.

Yata scowled after him for another second, and then made a soft, frustrated ‘ch’ and turned sharply towards the door.

_Fuck that guy!_

His head didn’t start to cool until after he’d made it back to the sidewalk, tossing his board onto the pavement and hopping on before it even settled. It was nearly summer, but the recent rainfalls made the air crisp, and feeling it blast his face and plaster his shirt to his body was satisfying.

In his mind, he could see Fushimi lowering his lids and smiling, almost as clearly as when it was happening for real. Yata’s heart was like thunder in his chest, and he clenched his teeth, restless irritation surging through his veins and crawling all over his skin. There was a tension in his brain that matched his body perfectly, and he didn’t know what to do to find a release. He could barely stand it.

_I fucking hate that bastard…_

With all the excitement, he’d pretty much completely forgotten the folded sign from earlier, so he nearly missed it on the way back, barely catching himself in time to step back on his skateboard and come to a halt. The motion had been automatic – kind of like hitting an ‘oh, right’ stop button – but Yata found himself looking up just the same, interested in spite of everything.

Hell, he needed an outlet, so why not?

‘Daily challenge’ was printed in bold text on the white background – and beneath that, inside a sleeve, was a large poster card with smaller print. It read, ‘Do something nice for someone you don’t get along with’.

“Huh?” Yata furrowed his eyebrows, frowning at the card. _What kind of challenge is that?_ It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, that was for sure – somehow, when he thought of daily challenges, he thought of strength or endurance tests. Like… climb an impossible mountain or something (not that there were any mountains around here, but whatever, it was the idea of it).

This one seemed like… kind of a letdown, really.

_“Something nice for someone I don’t get along with”, huh?_

Immediately, Fushimi’s face came to mind – not that it had been far from his thoughts anyway – and Yata scowled. He lifted his foot to let his board fall back down and hopped on again, kicking away from the sign without looking back.

Seriously, there was no way he could do something nice for that guy. Yata quickened his pace, hoping the extra speed would clean up some of the restless energy still lurking around in his body. Anyway, it wasn’t like Fushimi actually had things he _liked_ , so it was probably impossible, right? His frown deepened, eyes narrowing a bit as he propelled himself towards Homra. He barely even knew the guy, so what the hell could he do that would count as ‘something nice’?

_“Large Americano. Double.”_

Come to think of it, Fushimi hadn’t stopped by to pick up a coffee, had he?

_“I don’t have any more time to waste on idiots today.”_

_Too busy to get a drink, huh?_ Somehow, Yata felt the smallest edge of triumph forming within him; he couldn’t help but smirk a bit. _Heh. Got this._

It probably couldn’t count as a victory, but it still kind of felt like one.


	2. Chapter 2

The soft thwack of file folder hitting the surface of the desk beside him pulled Fushimi’s attention from the code on his screen; his fingers paused on the keys, concentration broken. When he shot an irritated glance at the intruder, Akiyama offered him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the interruption.”

If it had been anyone else, he might not have choked back the acidic remark that came to mind immediately in response. “It’s fine,” Fushimi replied instead, turning back to his screen. “I take it the documents were there, since you’re back so soon.”

“Exactly where you said,” Akiyama reported, polite and professional as always. “Since you’re already on the next assignment, I’ll contact the client and let him know. Thank you for your hard work.”

_It’s not like there’s any need to thank me._ This was work, after all – but it was satisfying to have hit the target dead center. Those long days of going through records and interactions and whatever else they could scrounge up to find hints to where those papers had been stored paid off, after all. “Yeah,” Fushimi acknowledged, in a non-committal tone, and offered his own concession, “Good work.”

Retrieving those things couldn’t have been a piece of cake. Akiyama could be relied on in terms of both force and diplomacy, depending on how things played out, so it wasn’t like Fushimi had been worried, but… Well, he wasn’t going to deny credit where credit was due, that was all.

“Any time, Fushimi-san,” Akiyama responded with the kind of warmth that suggested a smile came with it. Fushimi nodded a vague acknowledgement, already pulling his mind back to the adjustments he was making to the script that would bypass his latest target’s security measures.

Ever since the shift to a physical base of operations, it had become one of life’s inevitabilities that something would interrupt Fushimi the instant he’d managed to become thoroughly engrossed in what he was doing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t physically worked with everyone on Munakata’s payroll at least once while they were still operating out of the tiny rented office and their various personal apartments, but having everyone gathered in a shared space – with a secondary business being run on the side – provided far too many opportunities for distractions.

On the other hand, it was useful to have people on hand when he needed them, rather than trying to reach a particular person through an instant message or an email. Despite the various irritations and the initial chaos on setting up, he had to admit that things were running much more efficiently than they had been.

That really shouldn’t have been a surprise. The most ridiculous and whimsical-seeming decisions still managed to work in Munakata’s favor once executed.

… Even when some of those decisions were made in desperate circumstances, grasping at straws…

_There’s no point in dwelling on that, though, is there?_

The handset at Fushimi’s belt buzzed to life, and Hidaka’s voice came through clearly. “Fushimi-san, there’s a delivery for you.”

The word ‘delivery’ brought up the still-vivid memory of firy amber eyes glaring up at him that Fushimi had been successfully suppressing up to that point, and something in his chest stirred at the reminder. He clicked his tongue, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice when he brought up the handset to respond. “And? You can go ahead and distribute them without my help, if that’s what you’re asking.”

There was a moment of what felt like awkward silence, and then Hidaka responded, “No, um… I mean, one of these is for you.”

Fushimi blinked, momentarily taken aback, and then frowned. “What?”

“It has your name on it.” Hidaka sounded confused. “You didn’t order this?”

“No.” It was pointless to be having this conversation through the headsets. Fushimi sighed, pushing himself away from his desk and up. “Never mind – I’m coming out.”

If it wasn’t a mistake, then it was probably some sort of gift from Anna or Kusanagi – a good will offering for the start of this new business arrangement, maybe. It didn’t quite make sense – why would there not be a drink for Munakata or Awashima, if that were the case? – but the possibility was there.

_Maybe it’s an apology for having to deal with a loud-mouthed idiot._ That thought was a little bit satisfying. He wondered if Yata was still there, waiting in the entranceway with drink trays in his hands, lips turned down in a frown and expressive eyes studying the room with undisguised curiosity.

Fushimi didn’t notice that his pace had increased until he was pushing through the door, and clicked his tongue with annoyance. It wasn’t like he was particularly interested in Yata. He was easy to rile up, which was good for a few minutes of satisfaction, but that was it. That was really all there was to the tiny thread of anticipation winding behind Fushimi’s chest. Yata was loud, obnoxious, an obvious idiot, and just in general the kind of person Fushimi preferred to avoid.

He also wasn’t at the front entrance.

A small churning of something like disappointment snatched and dissolved the anticipation from before. Fushimi deliberately pushed that feeling aside, crossing the room to where Hidaka was still standing at his post. “Let’s see it, then.”

“Right here.” Hidaka handed over the Homra to-go cup.

Fushimi turned it in his hand, quickly finding his own name scrawled roughly on the side. It didn’t look like Anna’s tidy printing, or even Kusanagi’s hasty handwriting – but that didn’t particularly mean anything. Anyone at that place could have made the drink, even if it was ordered by one of them.

_I still don’t know why they’d bother._

There was a little edge of white against the dark brown sleeve – Fushimi shifted the material until a small square of folded paper was revealed, and he could pull it free with his fingers. Unsurprisingly, it was a note – and, in the same rough scrawl from the cup, it read, ‘Double Americano. This one’s on me. Don’t thank me too much.’

It was signed ‘Yatagarasu’ and there was a crudely drawn picture of a monkey face with ‘x’s for eyes and its tongue sticking out near the top.

Somehow, that earlier hint of anticipation surged back up in immediate reaction, and Fushimi irritably pushed it down, frowning at the cup and note in his hand. _What is he playing at?_ Less than fifteen minutes ago, Yata had been glaring at him and throwing crude insults – was this meant to be an apology?

If that was the case, it left a bad taste in his mouth. _I don’t need anything like that._ Fushimi caught his fingers tensing against the cup, the urge to crush it in his hand a little too strong for comfort, and forcibly restrained himself. He was beyond this.

It had been a surprise to hear the old, familiar ‘monkey’ insult come up again. No matter how many years had passed since that man’s death, he could still hear the voice in his head; still see that grin full of malice and mischief – and, more than anything, he could remember the unpleasant churning of fear and frustration and helplessness he’d felt as a child in the custody of such a person. It wasn’t something time could erase.

Oddly enough, hearing it from Yata’s mouth – in that hostile tone and with those eyes fixed on him, full of serious anger – was something of a relief. He was already fully confident that Yata was an idiot, and whatever had triggered the link between his name and the insult that had been tossed at him was undoubtedly something stupid. It wasn’t the mocking, malicious taunt that haunted his memory, reminding him constantly of the origin of his name and the joke hidden behind its unusual but innocuous-seeming composition. Somehow, the fire in those eyes pushed the old voice back, overpowering it with the rough, obnoxiously loud bark of this dumbass delivery boy he’d barely known for a week.

The whole thing was stupid, but even thinking of it now eased his nerves a little.

If anything, that only made this unasked-for apology more irritating than before. “I’m going out,” Fushimi said abruptly to Hidaka, barely catching his co-worker’s startled expression as he brushed past his post. “If anyone asks, I’m returning an unwanted gift.”

“Uh… right…” Hidaka sounded more than a little dubious, but he didn’t push it.

Not that there was much of a chance; the front door was already closing behind Fushimi as that response came.

The transition from the managed temperature to the damp feeling of not-quite-summer outside was noticeable. This time of year was the worst in Fushimi’s opinion – it wasn’t cold enough for jackets, but the infrequent showers forced you to have one with you regardless. It was a pain. His body didn’t handle cold well anyway, and he momentarily regretted leaving his own jacket behind, briefly considering going back for it in case the wind picked up or it started to rain before deciding it wasn’t worth the delay and continuing down the street instead.

He was starting to get used to this daily trek – the bus that would take him back to his small apartment had a station just beyond the Homra Coffee House, and if he took it early enough and then left work late enough, he could usually manage to avoid the worst of the crowd. A couple of times, when he was feeling particularly irritated with the world, he’d skipped it altogether and just taken a taxi straight to the building instead.

Like he had this morning, after waking up in a cold sweat with an unsettled feeling prickling through his skin and vague memories of green spreading across his computer screen. The echo of a hauntingly familiar chuckle and the sound of unhurried footsteps approaching his door had felt disturbingly real.

_Honestly._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, frown deepening as he increased his pace. He was confident he’d put those things behind him for the most part, but the fears – old and recent alike – were still never quite ready to leave him alone.

Well, it couldn’t be helped, and he was fine with that. At least he had things to occupy himself with: work that could be challenging, co-workers who weren’t complete useless idiots, and a person whose ideals were worth pursuing standing in front of him with unshaken purpose despite everything that had happened. In the end, that was enough.

Fushimi was never so lost in thought that he failed to observe what was around him, so the standing sign placed just on the edge of being in the way of traffic on the sidewalk caught his eye as soon as he started to draw close to it. Mainly because his memory was all but flawless under ordinary circumstances, and that sign definitely had not been there the night before. Moreover, the shop next to it was unoccupied, so there was nothing for it to advertise in that particular spot, which struck him as odd.

_It’s not really my concern, though._

Still, it had his attention, so he couldn’t really avoid catching the message on it – and from there, something clicked immediately in his head; he stopped in his tracks, gaze automatically shifting to the coffee cup in his hand.

_So that’s it._ It made sense. A hot-headed idiot like Yata would definitely be drawn in by something as simple and obvious as a “daily challenge”, and considering how they’d spoken this morning, “someone I don’t get along with” wasn’t exactly a leap.

The majority of the tension he’d been carrying with him since he’d opened the note eased off, and Fushimi took in a slow breath. _It was just something that simple, huh?_ He really should’ve known. The corners of his mouth edged up and he let out a soft huff, caught between amusement at the childish mentality on display here and irritation with himself for giving Yata way more credit than he obviously deserved. _I should’ve known a stubborn idiot like that wouldn’t back down from a grudge that easily._

Still, despite the relief, for some reason he felt strangely unsatisfied.

_He’s probably feeling pretty full of himself right now, huh?_ That thought was kind of annoying. Fushimi frowned at the sign. There was no way he had any interest in something as pointless as a daily challenge – but he wasn’t particularly keen on giving Yata any kind of satisfaction out of this, either. It left him feeling restless and irritable.

_Still, all he did was offer up a free coffee – it’s not like that’s anything worth boasting about._

In fact, he could already think of at least a dozen ways to fulfill the challenge much better…

It might even be worth seeing the look on Yata’s face when he realized how badly he’d been outdone at his own game.

The thought was incredibly petty, but considering the person he was dealing with, Fushimi didn’t really feel any remorse over it. The tiny smile from earlier was widening on his face, a kind of anticipation building behind it. As he turned to make his way back to work, he was already turning over a few ideas in his head, the details falling into place mentally and his pace increasing as he thought about how to put things into motion.

He folded open the flap on his coffee lid almost absently while walking, and when he raised the cup to take a drink, somehow it tasted better than usual.

 

* * *

 

 

It was just past the noon rush when Fushimi made his way into the Homra Coffee House, and the place was mostly empty. He’d specifically taken a late lunch with that in mind – if he left this too late, Yata might leave for the day, but if he came too early, there would be a crowd to deal with. Once he was on break, it was a simple enough matter to do what he needed to, with plenty of time left afterwards to deliver the results.

Their last order had been dropped off shortly before he’d taken his break, and based on the level of traffic in the early afternoon, he didn’t expect there to be another one any time soon – so Yata should be at his workplace. It could’ve caused a lot of annoying problems if Fushimi presented this at his own workplace anyway, so… Homra it was.

He’d managed to get the timing right, too – the shop was deserted other than some guy in an apron cleaning the tables, a customer in a wheelchair sipping coffee and reading a book, and his target behind the counter, bent over and clearly struggling to reach behind the espresso machine.

_Perfect._

The jingle of the door had Yata straightening hastily, an automatic and way-too-enthusiastic “Welcome!” already out of his mouth before he’d even pulled back and turned – and then he caught sight of Fushimi, and the half-formed smile immediately dropped into a suspicious frown, eyebrows coming down. “What do you want?”

There was something a little bit satisfying about being able to trigger an instant, strong reaction in someone on sight. “Your customer service skills could use some work, Misaki,” Fushimi responded, stepping up to the counter and meeting that narrow, heated glare straight on.

“Shut up! And quit using that name already!” The frown had shifted into a full-on scowl. Yata’s lips had a natural downward curve to them, and the way his eyes were set in his face gave them an intent look that probably carried through in his normal resting expression – if he even had such a thing. Everything about him seemed to be a combination of extremes. His size, too – it wasn’t even just his obvious height deficiency that made him seem so small. He was built slender, and his pointed chin and wide cheekbones gave him a younger look.

If you cared enough to think about it, that was probably the obvious reason for the brash attitude. _Compensation, huh?_

It didn’t account for the amount of passion and energy that he always seemed to be bursting at the seams with, but it wasn’t like that was important either way. Fushimi ignored the demand, instead responding with, “I don’t think you’re going to get much repeat business if you keep snapping at your customers.”

“You…” Yata set his hands on his hips, glaring across the counter. “You don’t count as a customer! Anyway, you’re not even here to buy anything, are you?” He paused for a beat, seeming to have some minor dumbass epiphany, and then his expression took on a bit of a smug edge. “Oh, that’s right – you’re here to thank me for earlier, huh?”

_How annoying._ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “That’s not it.”

That mulish scowl set itself back onto Yata’s face. “All right, so why?”

 “Here.” Fushimi dropped the thin stack of paper in his hand down onto the counter carelessly. “Take it.”

Yata’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes darting down to the papers and then back up to Fushimi’s face, a kind of wary puzzlement overriding the irritation. “What is it?”

Of course he was going to be tiresome about it. Fushimi sighed. “Your unpaid traffic tickets.”

“My – wait, _what?_ ”

Well, if he wasn’t going to bother to look at the paperwork anyway... “Six months ago, a violation for skateboarding in a pedestrian-only zone. Four months ago, commercial property skateboarding violation. Also four months ago, another pedestrian – ”

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Yata slammed his hands down on the counter, gawking at Fushimi with an almost comical mixture of rage and incredulity. “Where the hell did you get these, you bastard?” he just about snarled, one eyebrow twitching.

Fushimi reached up to push his glasses further on his nose, staring back evenly. “Classified.”

“Classified _my ass_ , you – you – ” Yata actually seemed to be literally sputtering with rage, an angry flush spreading across his cheeks as he floundered for words. It was a strangely fascinating sight. “This is like… like invasion of privacy or – ”

A low whistle interrupted him; when Fushimi glanced to the side, the man in the wheelchair was watching them with keen interest. “Yata, you got into a little trouble, huh? Pedestrian zone violations?”

“Th-those signs are really hard to see, okay?” The fury in Yata’s voice had shifted to a note of defensive protest. He straightened, seeming to draw up his indignation again. “Anyway, that’s not the – ”

“There are four in total,” Fushimi cut him off, “for the same area.”

The other man tutted lightly. “Ah, is that so…?”

“That area is huge, goddamnit!” Yata was looking murderous by now, his eyes flashing as he glowered across the counter at Fushimi. “Stop trying to change the subject! You totally just – ”

“It doesn’t matter.” There was no need to point out the fact that he’d had to do far more questionable things in service of Scepter 4 – with Munakata’s implicit approval – than dip his virtual fingers into the public sector. “They’ve all been taken care of.”

“There’s no way – eh?” Yata’s angry tirade cut off in belated surprise. His eyebrows eased up, eyes going a bit wide as he stared at Fushimi. The startled expression was vaguely endearing – if you were interested in that sort of thing. “Wait – taken care of – you mean…?”

“You don’t need to pay them.” Fushimi tapped a finger lightly on the top sheet of paper. “Have a look for yourself.”

Yata’s eyes flickered to the papers briefly, and then back up to Fushimi’s face. He blinked slowly – once, twice – as if processing what he’d just been told, and when he spoke, there was a strangely tentative note in his voice. “You – you mean – you paid these…?”

“Of course not.” Fushimi didn’t bother to keep the derision out of his own voice, raising an eyebrow in return. “They’ve been voided out.”

“Huh?” Yata blinked again, that stupidly endearing look back on his face. “But – hold on…”

The corners of Fushimi’s mouth were already edging up into a smirk, and he didn’t bother to hold it back. “It’s a better response to a ‘do something nice’ challenge than a free coffee, huh, Misaki?”

The light of recognition was starting to dawn in Yata’s eyes; he stared back for a moment, face blank, and then it seemed to hit him all at once, and his expression shifted to incredulity. “AH! You – the challenge – but – wait – wait, _fuck you_ , it’s not _better!_ ” The fierce glare was back, along with the scowl; Yata actually leaned forward, as if he were trying to get close enough for his anger to burn into Fushimi. “Mine was actually something _nice_ – yours is just stalking and – hold on.” His eyebrows scrunched forward, eyes narrowing further. “Is this legal? It’s not legal, right? You did some kind of hacking or something, didn’t you?” He lowered his voice, the rest coming out in what sounded like a furious attempt at an undertone “What if I get arrested over this?”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow in return. “Don’t underestimate me.” It was a little irritating, to be honest, although the idiotic reaction was sort of amusing, too. “Anyway, even if you could, I’d consider that possibility to be more of a perk than a defect.”

Yata’s eyebrows twitched. “How the hell is that something nice then, you _goddamn monkey_?”

He clicked his tongue in response, frowning back. “It’s nicer than free coffee.”

“ _No, it’s not!_ ”

“It’s more than ten times the cost. Not to mention the skill involved…”

“That’s not the point!” Yata glared at him for another brief second, then abruptly turned to face the tables again. “Totsuka-san! Settle this for me! What’s better, free coffee or hacking away someone’s traffic tickets?”

His voice was loud. Fushimi felt his own eyebrow give a tic. _Weren’t you the one worried about getting in trouble over this?_

That name, though…

“Eh?” The man in the wheelchair blinked at them, an unassuming little smile on his face. He tilted his head, seeming to mull it over. “Hmm… which one…?”

_‘Totsuka-san’, huh?_ So then, this would be Totsuka Tatara. Fushimi remembered the name from the brief explanation of Kusanagi’s financial situation back when he’d assisted with Anna’s inheritance, but he didn’t know the details of what had happened to him. The face that went with that name was not at all what he’d have expected considering the expense report that listed his surgery and physical therapy treatments, though. Totsuka looked young and kind of frail, yes, but he seemed unreasonably cheerful considering his circumstances.

Well, it wasn’t like this was any of Fushimi’s concern, either way. His involvement in that whole business was peripheral at best.

Totsuka gave a careless little shrug. “Ah, well… I guess I’d say the traffic tickets.”

“How can you say that?” Yata actually sounded like he’d just had his trust betrayed. “I could go to jail over those stupid things!”

“Your friend said you won’t, though, right?”

“He’s not my friend!” Yata shot back – at the same time as Fushimi muttered, “I’m not his friend.”

They exchanged a startled glance.

_What a pain._ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “You heard him, Misaki. Accept your loss gracefully.”

“It’s not my loss, _monkey_.” The insult was spat out with a certain amount of venom, Yata’s scowl deepening with resentment. “We both did the stupid challenge, remember?”

“According to your friend over there, I did it better.”

Yata’s answering glower was furious; he leaned back over the counter again, eyes seeming to burn into Fushimi’s with that overflowing energy he’d noticed so many times during their brief acquaintance. “Fucking… fine,” he growled out, and then drew himself up as much as possible. “Then I’m gonna do tomorrow’s challenge, and I’ll do it better than your sorry ass ever could!”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow in response, trying to cover his rising annoyance at that assumption and the stupidly confident expression that came with it. “You really think that’s possible for you, Misaki?”

“Quit calling me that!” Yata snapped back. “You wanna do this? Fine. I’ll do every challenge for a week – for _two_ weeks! Then we’ll see whose loss this _really_ is!”

“Still yours,” Fushimi responded immediately and frowned back. “Not that I have time for pointless challenges…”

Yata’s face split in a fierce grin at that. “If you’re not even gonna do them, that’s still my win, _monkey_.”

That smug look was beyond irritating. Fushimi clicked his tongue. “If you’re really that eager to look like even more of an idiot...”

“Hah! Yeah, we’ll see about that!”

They glared at each other across the counter.

Something about the air between them felt charged, and it was as if Yata’s eyes were burning straight through Fushimi’s skull, setting off a rush of heat and scrambling his thoughts. At the back of his mind, he thought that this was probably a mistake. Falling into this loud-mouthed idiot’s pace wasn’t going to do him any favors in the end. It would definitely result in a lot of wasted time and energy, in the pursuit of… well, nothing. But that straightforward, brainless, overly confident assertion – _“I’ll do it better than your sorry ass ever could”_ – churned in his brain like acid. To think that this moron actually expected to get the better of him in any sense…

It was laughable, but Yata obviously believed it. That thought alone was hatefully unpleasant.

“Fine. Two weeks.” Fushimi finally broke their shared gaze, turning from the counter with the intent of putting this place – and its annoying occupants – behind him. “I’ll humor you for that long, Misaki – but you’d better accept defeat properly after we’re done.”

He already knew without looking that he was going to be late returning from his break. Not that anyone would particularly mind, but it bothered him that he’d somehow lost track of time. This idiot was a distraction.

“You’re the one who’s gonna be defeated!” Yata retorted hotly, and as the door was closing behind Fushimi, he added, “And then you’ll have to stop using that name, you damn monkey!”

Without pausing, Fushimi waved a dismissive hand behind him, and couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he imagined Yata’s outraged expression and helpless sputtering.

Despite everything, he felt strangely invigorated.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. By the time he’d made it back to Scepter 4, Fushimi’s head had cooled considerably, and he was able to immerse himself in his current project without any particular trouble. There were several more deliveries from Homra throughout the afternoon, but with the process more or less working smoothly, the two at the front could handle it without his help.

He wasn’t even sure if it was still Yata doing the deliveries (wouldn’t his shifts end early, considering how he was normally there first thing in the morning?), but it didn’t matter either way.

It was well into dinnertime by the time he left, but that wasn’t unusual. He even felt settled enough to take the bus home rather than calling another taxi.

The challenges didn’t really worry him, honestly. Yata was the kind of opponent who left his weak points wide open, so even in cases where Fushimi might be at a disadvantage, there would likely be other ways to come out ahead. It wasn’t like there was much chance of Yata out-thinking him, after all.

A new challenge wasn’t posted yet when he made his way to work the next morning – the sign was out, but the sleeve that had held the previous challenge was empty. _I’ll have to check again later._

That was kind of a pain, but still doable. It wasn’t like it was far to go.

_As long as I can keep this quiet from –_

“Ah, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata was standing at the front entrance when he let himself in the front door, a beatific smile on his face and his hand on the greeter’s desk, where Kamo was already standing with stiff posture and a vaguely uncomfortable look on his face. The café was clear of customers – they weren’t actually open for another half hour – but Goto was also behind the refreshments counter at the back, looking on with interest, and he could see Enomoto and Fuse hovering at the entrance to the back room, partially hidden by the door. “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

The urge to turn right around and walk back out was almost overpowering. Fushimi eyed his boss warily, not moving from the door. “What is it?”

They’d barely been open for a week, so he couldn’t exactly say that it was unusual for Munakata to be waiting at the door for him, but somehow, he had a bad feeling about this.

“Nothing to be concerned about – your performance is excellent, as always.” Munakata reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose. “It’s come to my attention that you have engaged in a friendly competition with one of the employees at our partner company.”

… A bad feeling that apparently was right on the mark. Fushimi could feel dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. He clicked his tongue to cover it, staring at his boss flatly. “How did you hear about that?”

Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Munakata answered that he’d requested the install of cameras in Homra’s main base so that he could keep an eye on their comings and goings as well as those of his own employees. Fushimi was well aware of the level of surveillance at Scepter 4 – the only reason it didn’t bother him was because he really had nothing to hide. His superiors knew of – and even encouraged – most of his underhanded methods, after all.

To be honest, the cameras weren’t even necessary. Their boss was just an incurable busybody.

“By chance, a close friend of my live-in partner had been made aware,” Munakata answered smoothly, as if this was really of no consequence. “The information was passed on to me accordingly.” The gaze fixed on Fushimi’s face was keenly interested. “I commend you for engaging with our business partners in such an enthusiastic manner, Fushimi-kun.”

The memory of Yata’s flushed, angry face rose to the surface of Fushimi’s thoughts without his conscious consent. He clicked his tongue again, pushing it back. _Engaging, huh?_ “It’s nothing special.”

His response was summarily ignored. “As such, I have taken it upon myself to formalize the terms of your agreement and ensure that the spirit of the competition does not blind us to the true aim of such events.” Munakata half-turned. “Awashima-kun, if you would.”

… _What?_ “O-oi…” Fushimi shot an alarmed glance in the direction of his other superior, who stepped forward as her name was called.

“Yes, sir.” Awashima regarded Fushimi with a completely straight face, her posture and expression businesslike. “Regarding the pre-arranged informal competition between Scepter 4’s Fushimi Saruhiko and Homra’s Yata Misaki, the following terms apply.”

_Is this even for real?_ Fushimi stared at her with growing incredulity. Yes, Munakata had some… eccentric… ideas, and yes, Awashima normally went along with them regardless, but _this_ … He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute…”

“First” – Awashima shot him a stern look, otherwise not acknowledging the interruption – “the competition has been defined as a once-daily occurrence for the extended time period of two weeks, two days subtracted, with the final event taking place on the second Sunday to occur from this date forward.”

They were serious. Fushimi let out a sharp sigh, aware of his co-workers exchanging glances and furiously whispered comments but trying to block it out. “Is this a joke?”

“Second,” Awashima continued crisply, as if he hadn’t spoken at all, “both participants agree to complete each challenge, as posted, to the best of their ability. Failure to complete a challenge will result in a declared loss by default. In the event that both participants fail to complete the challenge, the result will be declared a draw.”

“Captain,” Fushimi cut in again, when she paused, turning his frown on Munakata instead. His brain was working furiously to find a way to undo as much of the damage as possible. “Isn’t it against the spirit of a” – he had to swallow to force the next word out – “’friendly’ competition if you put this level of formality on it? The point is to bond casually, right?”

Truthfully, he had no intention of bonding in any way with Yata or anyone else, but he had to say something to stop this ridiculous display. _This isn’t even funny, so just end it already!_

“You bring up a fair point, Fushimi-kun,” Munakata acknowledged, with serene and unshaken confidence. His expression was benign. “Indeed, the primary aim is the forming of bonds between our two teams.” The light seemed to gleam off of his glasses as he tipped his head forward. “However, without proper order, we run the risk of a far more chaotic outcome. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Fushimi felt his eyebrow twitch. _He’s infuriating sometimes._ “With all due respect, Captain,” he responded, putting in effort to keep his voice low and even. Even to his own ears, he could hear the undertone of frustration. “I’m fully capable of handling this without any help.”

“Of course – and I have full confidence in your abilities.” Munakata’s smile was even a bit on the fond side, which Fushimi had been noticing more often lately, after everything. It was kind of annoying, but he didn’t entirely dislike it – except in moments like this, of course. “As a participant, however, the task of ensuring order is maintained does not fall to you.”

_This is ridiculous._ Fushimi clicked his tongue again, holding back his impatience and irritation. “Captain – ”

“Fushimi-kun.” It wasn’t so much an interruption as something obviously meant to follow Munakata’s previous words – as if he had still been speaking, and Fushimi was the one interrupting. “On an unrelated note, I came across some unusual activity on your workstation regarding the public sector and a certain individual’s unpaid traffic violations.” He paused a moment, as if for effect. “No doubt you’d mention if such a thing might have an impact on your impartiality in this matter?”

_… Damnit._ Of course he’d known that his boss would uncover that little bit of work – it wasn’t like he’d gone to great pains to hide it. But at the time, it hadn’t occurred to him that his own actions would backfire and be used against him for something like this. Fushimi seethed for a moment, staring back with resentful helplessness.

He really should be used to Munakata outmaneuvering him, but it wasn’t often that they went head to head, after all. Usually they either saw eye to eye in the first place or he’d follow his superior’s instructions trusting that it was in service of a worthwhile cause.

Even the last time… not knowing if there’d be a boss or a job to return to…

_It’s not worth thinking about that now._

“Well, it’s of little consequence,” Munakata said blithely, after a moment of tense silence made it clear that Fushimi wasn’t going to respond. “Shall we return to our earlier discussion?”

Awashima tilted her head in his direction. “Should I take that as my cue to continue, Captain?”

“Please do.”

Fushimi clenched his teeth in frustration, but held his tongue.

The diction resumed, with Awashima once again straight-faced and strictly businesslike. “Third, assuming both participants have completed the challenge as posted, the determination of the winner should be left in the hands of one or more neutral observers. Fellow employees may suffice.”

There was an alarmed noise from the direction of the back room. At the greeter’s desk, Kamo shifted awkwardly.

“Fourth, once the final challenge has been completed, the tally of each participant’s victories will be compared. The participant with the higher number of victories will be considered the overall winner, and the contest will end.”

“Well spoken, Awashima-kun,” Munakata remarked, looking highly pleased with the entire state of affairs. “Now, there seems to be only the matter of a prize for the winner left in question, wouldn’t you say?”

As if this wasn’t already ridiculous enough… Fushimi gritted his teeth. “Why does there need to be a prize?”

Munakata smiled benevolently at him. “Of course there must be a prize, Fushimi-kun. What kind of competition would this be with no reward for the victor?”

“… Do you really want an honest answer to that?”

The door swung open behind him before he could get a response. “Morning!” Doumyouji’s cheerful voice rang out. “Seems a lot warmer out – eh?” When Fushimi glanced back, he was eyeing the scene in front of him with open confusion. “What’s happening?”

Kamo was attempting to wave a discreet hand at him, but it was apparently too late already. “Doumyouji-kun,” Munakata greeted him. “This is fortunate timing. We were only just beginning to discuss a potential prize in an upcoming friendly competition. Perhaps you have some thoughts you could share with us?”

“Huh? Competition?” Doumyouji blinked, clearly taken off-guard, but his expression quickly turned thoughtful. “Hmm… then, how about cash or a trophy?”

_Don’t encourage him without knowing what’s going on…_ Fushimi glared at him. Still, at least those were tame ideas, and not something even more idiotic.

“Yes, those are fine ideas,” Munakata responded, and Fushimi relaxed marginally in the small instant before his boss continued speaking. “However, as this is the first time that a member from each of our teams will engage in such an event, I think we should endeavor to determine a more unique reward for the victor.”

“Oh, so it’s just two people?” Doumyouji seemed oblivious to the death glare that Fushimi was aiming at him, instead frowning vaguely as he thought about it. “Unique, huh?” He shrugged, offered a bit of a grin and said, cheerfully, “Well, sometimes in competitions with friends, you say that the winner owns the loser for a day. How about that?”

_What about that is a good idea? That’s a terrible prize._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, scowling at his co-worker for another instant before turning his gaze sharply back towards Munakata. _There’s no way he’d actually consider something like that…_

The widening of the smile on his boss’s face was very much like a blood-red sun rising.

“Splendid.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How was I supposed to know?”

Doumyouji’s voice was a pathetic whine, still clearly audible from where he was wedged under the table that held the spare workstations, stuck with the hopeless mission of untangling the mess of cables that had accumulated in their weeks of storage.

Enomoto sighed, pausing in his rapid typing to shut his eyes in brief sympathy. “Doumyouji-san, you should know better than to encourage the Captain like that.”

“I was just answering honestly!” the muffled voice protested. “What else was I supposed to do in a situation like that, huh?”

Fushimi shot the set of legs sticking out of the table a withering glare from his own workstation. “Shut up and work quietly,” he snapped. “Unless you want to spend the afternoon doing this as well.”

Doumyouji made a sort of low, suffering moan, but didn’t speak up again.

_So irritating…_ Fushimi clicked his tongue sharply, turning his scowl back towards his computer screen again. As of thirty minutes ago, Munakata had gone up the stairs leading to the tiny office space above them and Awashima had taken Akiyama and Benzai with her on some field work, which left Fushimi in charge. He’d been only too happy to repay the “favor” from earlier. The fact that Doumyouji hadn’t had any particular malice in mind when he’d brainlessly made that suggestion didn’t matter; Fushimi’s mood was foul, and the slow and painful punishment made him feel slightly appeased.

Very slightly. Miniscule, really.

The fact that the stupid competition with Yata was now out in the open where everyone could gawk at it was more annoying than the set of official “rules” his boss had tacked onto it. Frankly, the challenges were an unknown factor, and there was always the possibility that he’d have to do something ridiculous to come out ahead. He wasn’t keen to have everyone he knew watching while that happened.

_Not that there’s anything I can do about it now._ Once Munakata made up his mind, he was implacable.

Fushimi became aware that he was sitting at the computer staring dumbly at his own unfinished work, and exhaled sharply. His ability to concentrate despite circumstances surrounding him was usually fairly good, but this mess was on another level altogether. He could feel a headache building already.

_Annoying…_

Before he could make another attempt to get back into his assigned task, the handset at his waist buzzed. “Fushimi-san,” Kamo’s voice came through, almost cautiously. “Sorry, but… can you come out here for a moment?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, bringing up the device to respond. “What is it? I’m busy.”

It came out a bit churlish, but he didn’t think he could be blamed for that, given the situation.

“Right, sorry to bother you. It’s just…” Kamo cleared his throat awkwardly. “The delivery boy from Homra wants to see you. He’s making a bit of a scene.”

“I’m not making a fucking _scene!_ ” the tinny echo of Yata’s angry voice came through clearly despite the fact that he couldn’t have been standing anywhere near the receiver. “Just tell that bastard to get his ass out here if he knows what’s good for him!”

Just what the day needed. Fushimi shut his eyes, lips curling down into a scowl as he let out a sharp, frustrated breath. “Fine. I’m coming out.” He pushed himself up abruptly, and then as an afterthought added, “Make sure that idiot isn’t throwing any tantrums in front of the customers.”

He could feel just about every one of his co-worker’s gazes on him as he stalked towards the door, and it felt like that headache gave a little throb with each step.

“Does this mean I’m done?” Doumyouji’s voice called out, hopefully.

Fushimi yanked the door firmly shut behind him without bothering to respond.

As expected, Yata was standing in the entranceway with his skateboard under his arm, his free hand clenched in a fist, and his expression indicating that he was about ready to commit murder. Just the sight of him standing there kicked off that unpleasant churning in Fushimi’s stomach, and he was torn between the urge to either walk faster and get this over with or turn right back around. From the tension in the air, he half expected Yata to start yelling profanities from across the room, but instead he stood there silently glaring as the space between them slowly diminished.

_Amazing. He is capable of restraint, after all._

“What do you want, Misaki?” It was a struggle to keep his voice even, and a bit of the resentful irritation seeped through despite his best efforts.

“We need to fucking talk,” Yata ground out in response, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder angrily. “Outside.”

At least he wasn’t going to make a scene in front of the customers. Fushimi clicked his tongue, frown deepening. “Make this quick,” he muttered, sweeping past Yata as best he could and reaching for the door handle.

At close range, it was possible to notice that the top of Yata’s head only came up to around the level of Fushimi’s nose. Somehow, that tiny, automatic observation was satisfying.

“Don’t act like _I’m_ the one who’s wrong here, monkey!” Yata was already snapping at him before they’d even gone through the door, his voice loud and indignant in Fushimi’s ears. “I wanna know why the hell your boss sent _my_ boss a list of goddamn rules for this thing we’re doing! I never agreed to that shit!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, turning away from the entrance to his workplace without glancing back. “Neither did I,” he muttered, almost under his breath.

“What the hell was that?” Yata demanded, quickly catching up to him. “Stop mumbling all the time!”

They were getting some funny looks from people passing on the sidewalk. Fushimi stopped walking, forcing Yata to belatedly halt and turn back to face him. “If you’d stop yelling so much, maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to compensate.”

He got a scowl in response. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

“Never mind.” Fushimi frowned back, aiming a dry look down his nose. “So? What’s your problem?”

“My problem is _you_ , asshole!” Yata retorted. His eyes were actually flashing with anger. Fushimi had never seen someone so ridiculously expressive in his life. It was like watching a stage drama up close. “You never mentioned any of those dumbass rules yesterday! And what’s with that creepy prize? I don’t want you to be ‘mine’ for a day!”

“Fortunately for you, that won’t be happening.” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. “But, for the record, I’m not interested in owning you for a day, either.”

“Hah! Like you’d get the chance!” Yata braced a hand on his hip, skateboard still tucked under the other arm, and straightened as if to try and gain more height. “Anyway, if you don’t want that shitty prize, then why’d you even come up with it?”

“’Shitty prize’ is right,” Fushimi muttered, curling his lip a bit in response. “Obviously it wasn’t my idea – hadn’t you guessed that by now?”

Yata seemed a bit taken aback by that; he blinked, easing out of the glare a little, and then his eyes narrowed again. “What in this stupid conversation would make me guess something like that?”

“My mistake. I forgot that you’re an idiot.” Fushimi fixed him with a steady gaze. “Either way, someone from your workplace spread the news to my boss, so you can thank whoever _that_ was for all of this additional garbage.”

“Huh?” Yata stared at him, perplexed. “Why would anyone from my workplace talk to your boss?”

“How should I know? But they’re the only ones who would know about it, assuming they overheard us,” Fushimi pointed out, and then raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “Unless _you_ opened your big mouth.”

“Of course I didn’t – what d’you take me for?” Yata let out a sharp ‘ch’ and scowled back. “Y’know what, fine. I don’t give a shit. Whatever the rules or prize or any of that, I’m still gonna kick your ass!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Enjoy that delusion while you can.” It was difficult to look away from that stubbornly determined gaze, but he managed, turning back to start walking again. “Come on, then.”

“Eh? What?” Hasty footsteps followed him, and then Yata was at his side. “Where are you going?”

“Obviously to get the next challenge.” Fushimi didn’t bother glancing over at him. Something within him was churning restlessly, and it was making him edgy. He couldn’t decide if it was pleasant or concerning, but he recognized that blazing anticipation as a feeling he’d come to associate with Yata. “Did you even bother to check it before rushing over to publicly embarrass yourself?”

The second of startled silence was answer enough. “I-It’s more fair if we check it together, right?” Yata muttered. “That way you can’t complain about a disadvantage when you lose.”

“You should’ve just taken the opportunity,” Fushimi responded coolly, and managed a small smirk, finally stealing a glance over. “You’ll need whatever help you can get.”

Yata’s answering sneer was fierce. “Yeah, we’ll see about that! Just wait!”

The churning was worse, and that sense of anticipation fired up even more when he looked at those expressive eyes, but it didn’t feel unpleasant. Fushimi turned his gaze forward, the corners of his mouth edging up further. He was getting caught up in Yata’s pace again, but it didn’t matter. He’d force it back into his own soon enough.

_It shouldn’t take too much effort to win against someone like him._

With everything else, it almost escaped his notice that his earlier headache had disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

The new challenge read, “Communicate without using words today”.

_That sounds like it’ll be annoying._ Still, it was doable. Fushimi glanced sideways just in time to see Yata narrowing his eyes at the board, and felt a tiny surge of satisfaction.

Between the two of them, his odds were good.

Honestly, once his co-workers knew what was going on, this was probably going to be simple. Most of the time he spent his day working independently anyway, and unless he had to participate in some kind of meeting with a client (which he didn’t that he knew of, and if one came up, someone could reschedule it for him) there was no need to talk to anyone.

The only problem was how to let them know about this quickly – and without using words.

_Well, it’s not really much of a problem._ There was an obvious solution. Fushimi eyed Yata for a second, wondering if he’d figure out something similar.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t seem to. That vivid gaze met his, and Yata frowned for a beat, before letting out a soft ‘ch’ and dropping his skateboard with the obvious intent heading back to his own workplace. He kicked off with the practiced flow that probably came with a mix of natural athleticism and years of effort, waving a careless hand over his shoulder in lieu of any actual parting words.

Fushimi waited until he’d gone a good ways, and then smiled faintly to himself, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. After he’d snapped a picture of the board, he pocketed it again and turned to make his way back to Scepter 4.

So far, things were looking good, as expected.

 

* * *

 

 

_Communicate without using words, huh?_

Yata frowned to himself, pushing harder off of the ground as he rolled back towards Homra. Would it be that hard? Sure, he couldn’t talk, but maybe text…

_No wait, it said words, not talking – text has words, so that won’t work._ Which meant he couldn’t just write down when he meant to say, either… He’d have to somehow get Kusanagi to put him somewhere other than the front counter today. Sure, he’d be doing deliveries here and there, but he couldn’t serve customers if he couldn’t talk, after all…

_Wonder how that jerk is gonna manage this._ He wouldn’t be able to insult people without using words. Yata couldn’t help but smirk a little to himself, thinking about how annoyed Fushimi might look, unable to comment when something he didn’t like happened. _Serves you right, asshole!_

Fushimi was smart, though, he had to admit. Yata wouldn’t say it out loud even on pain of death, but he was grudgingly impressed by the whole traffic tickets thing. Seriously, hacking into the system just like that! It was really cool, if you stopped to think about it. The thought even sent a little shiver down his spine; he could see Fushimi’s fine-boned, grumpy-looking face clearly in his head as he dropped the papers on the counter, blue eyes veiled behind impressively long lashes.

There was an uncomfortable warmth building on Yata’s face. He scowled, trying to push that memory back. _Whatever – he’s still an asshole even if he can do cool stuff!_

It just meant he’d probably be able to figure out a way to do this challenge despite the difficulty, so Yata had to stay on his toes. He couldn’t afford to fall behind right at the start.

“Oh, Yata-chan – good timing!” Kusanagi called the greeting out over the din of customers when Yata pushed through the door into Homra again, holding up a full travel tray near where the counter lifted to get to the back. There was another one sitting in front of him. “We’ve got a couple of these ready to go, so can you head right back out?”

That made things easier. Yata hesitated for just a second, then grinned and shot back a thumbs up, ducking around the line-up to take the trays. “Thanks,” Kusanagi said to him as he grabbed them, shooting him a small, rueful smile before turning to begin on the next order.

_Easy._ He maneuvered his way back out the door, skateboard under one arm and hands full of the drink trays, feeling just a bit satisfied with how that had turned out. _This is gonna be a breeze._

 

* * *

 

 

“Fushimi-san, there’s a phone call for – oh. Right.” Hidaka managed a small sheepish grin, bringing the receiver back to his face as he caught the irritated frown he got in response. “I’m sorry, he’s not available right now – is there a message I can leave for him?”

_How many times is that going to happen?_ Fushimi clicked his tongue, attempting to return to his own work for the fourth or fifth time that afternoon. It seemed like when he _didn’t_ have a challenge that kept him from talking, his co-workers could get along fine without his help, but today, it was as if they couldn’t go five minutes without asking some inane question.

_Honestly, it’s like all of you have the memories of goldfish._

“Fushimi-san!” Doumyouji sidled over to him, a large and somehow stupidly proud grin on his face, and it took all of Fushimi’s will power not to turn and elbow him in the gut. “You wouldn’t mind if I turn in my report a bit late… or does it matter?”

This had been going on practically since he’d indicated to let the idiot out from beneath the spare desks, an action which had obviously been a miscalculation on his part. Fushimi glowered back without bothering to respond. It had apparently become some kind of moronic game to try and trick an answer from him that he hadn’t meant to give. It was already irritating after the first attempt, and at this point – on the fifth – it had become downright infuriating.

“So… yes, then?”

“Doumyouji-san!” Enomoto hissed, almost frantically. “I think you shouldn’t push your luck!”

“What? I’m not doing anything bad!” Doumyouji waved that warning aside, still looking stupidly pleased with himself. “It’s just a harmless question, right, Fushimi-san?”

_This is a waste of time._ Fushimi clicked his tongue again, waited until he had Doumyouji’s full attention, and then deliberately shifted his gaze in the direction of the spare desks – and what was no doubt still a hopeless mess of cables beneath.

The message seemed to get across loud and clear – Doumyouji actually blanched, swallowed hard, and blurted, “Right, never mind! I think I’m fine, after all – thanks!” before bolting back to his workstation at almost record speed.

_Finally._ Fushimi let out a sharp breath, turning back to his monitor. Maybe now he’d be able to work without being constantly –

At his side, his phone began to buzz. The call display read ‘Awashima Seri’.

_Of course it is…_ He clenched his teeth, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath through his nose and glaring at the phone as it vibrated on the desk. It wasn’t like he was dumb enough to answer it, but the one-sided “conversation” he’d be subjected to afterwards was going to be a pain.

The day just kept getting worse…

 

* * *

 

 

“So… what, he lost his voice?” Bandou gave up on regarding Yata with a confused frown, turning to glance over in Dewa’s direction for clarification. “I can’t tell what he’s trying to say.”

“No idea,” Dewa responded, with a shrug and an apathetic look. “He’s been like that all morning.”

_Damnit…_ Yata lowered his hands and let out a frustrated breath, scowling at them both. _How the hell can you not get what I’m trying to say?_ It felt like every single one of his friends had become impossibly dense. And no one had even managed to guess that it was a challenge – shouldn’t they figure it out? Everyone had been bugging him about it just yesterday, so why was it such a mystery now? _Just… go work the fucking counter already, and let me do the cleaning!_

“Well, whatever.” Bandou reached up to scratch at the back of his raised hood and then turned, rolling up his sleeves, moving towards the back room. “Guess I’ll go do the cleaning!”

_… You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!_

The delivery rush had been pretty simple, just like he’d thought. The guys at Scepter 4 seemed to know exactly what was going on and didn’t try to talk to him, so Yata had assumed his own co-workers would figure it out too, and everything would go smoothly.

No such luck. For the past hour, since their quiet time started, all he’d gotten were some blank looks, shrugs, and – in Kusanagi’s case – an amused grin and a bit of a chuckle. Even Anna had been no help – she’d looked at him very seriously for a second or two, and then simply said ‘good luck’ before following Kusanagi out on whatever errand he’d gone off to run. Yata was beginning to wonder what the hell kind of magic Fushimi had used to get everyone on his side to realize what was going on, because nothing he did was getting through to these guys at all!

_Yeah, speaking of which…_ Yata made a small, irritated grunt and moved to block Bandou’s path, narrowing his eyes as he braced himself in front of the door to the back room. _I’m the one who can’t talk here, so why the hell would I be manning the counter? Just get a clue already, dumbass!_

 Bandou’s eyebrows furrowed over his sunglasses; he stared at Yata with obvious perplexity. “C’mon, Yata-san, gimme a break! Just tell me what’s going on already!”

“Good luck with that,” Dewa remarked drily, leaning over the counter with his face propped on one hand as he watched them. “Eric and I have been trying to get him to talk all morning – he doesn’t even respond to obvious taunts.”

“Really?” Bandou’s confused expression cleared up into something like interest. “So you’re saying even if we comment on his embarrassing habit of going red and stuttering like a virgin when there’s a girl at the counter, nothing will – _ow!_ ”

“Oh yeah – he’ll still hit you, though. Watch out for that.”

Bandou rubbed at the shoulder Yata had just punched, a bit of a sheepish grin breaking through the injured look. “Thanks, I got it.”

_This is so fucking dumb…_ Yata braced a hand on his hip and frowned in response, reaching up to point at the counter deliberately. _I’m just saying to work at the front – it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out, should it?_

The dubious expression on Bandou’s face said otherwise; he looked at the counter and back at Yata, and spread his hands, lifting his shoulders in a kind of helpless gesture. “I’ve got no idea what you’re getting at, man – you’re gonna have to explain or something.”

Yata clenched his teeth, frustration welling up inside him to an almost impossible degree as he glared helplessly back. _Seriously, you’re kidding, right?_

Why the hell was this so goddamn difficult?

“Oh, hey!” Abruptly, Bandou seemed to brighten; he brought his fist down on his open palm, clearly thinking he’d just had a stroke of genius. “If you can’t say it, how ’bout writing down what you want me to do? That’d work, right?”

Yata brought back his hand to press the heel of it against his forehead, allowing himself a low, suffering growl before sucking in a long breath and letting it out in an agitated huff. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do about this without using any words. Actually, he’d never thought before about how important words were in… well, _everything_. How were you supposed to communicate when you couldn’t use them and everyone else around you was relying on them so much?

Whoever came up with this goddamn challenge was a sadistic prick.

“We already tried that,” Dewa pointed out in that dry tone. “He won’t do it.”

“Huh.” Bandou scratched at his hood again, looking bewildered. “So… now what?”

The familiar jingle from the door sounded off before anyone had a chance to even try to answer that. “Hey,” Eric said quietly, as he stepped inside. He was holding his phone in his hand, and his expression was wry. “I figured out why Yata-san’s been so quiet all morning.”

Dewa blinked. “Really?”

_About goddamn time, you jerks!_ Yata felt his shoulders sag a little with relief. Finally…

“Yeah.” Eric held up the phone, screen facing towards them. As the others moved in to take a look, Yata caught enough of a glimpse to see that he’d taken a picture of the challenge board. “Apparently he’s not allowed to use words.”

“Huh.” Bandou stroked his chin, gazing thoughtfully at the image. “I guess that explains it…”

Dewa tilted his head towards the back of the room, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to just take a picture and show us?”

Yata blinked at him, those words slowly sinking it. _Ah…_ Right, he could’ve done that. It seemed so simple now that it was right there in front of him. So easy. Just take a picture and show it, and everyone would’ve got it right away. In fact, it was probably exactly what Fushimi had done.

_And the asshole waited until I left to do it, didn’t he?_

That was _really_ irritating, somehow. Yata let out another ‘ch’, crossing his arms and scowling back stubbornly. _Like you guys would’ve thought of it either!_

Eric met his gaze steadily, unimpressed. “It was the first thing I thought of,” he pointed out, blandly.

Sure, _now_ they could understand what he was thinking. Yata glared at him. _You’re not the one doing this stupid thing, okay? Fuck off._

“Well, glad that’s settled.” Bandou shrugged, turning back towards Yata with a grin. “Now I can get cleaning before we hit the lunchtime rush, right?”

Yata felt one of his eyebrows twitch involuntarily.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, the lunchtime rush helped – a lot, in fact. Deliveries picked up again just after he’d finished wiping down all the tables, and with Bandou, Dewa, and Eric there to alternately man the counters and fill the orders from Scepter 4, things went smoothly. There were a couple of times when he’d had to do some hand-waving, but nothing too major. Yata was starting to feel pretty good about it again.

_That’s right, I got this!_ He brought his skateboard to a stop just outside Homra’s front door, actually grinning to himself as he reached for the handle. _I can handle whatever this daily challenge thing throws at me!_

“Yata-chan,” Kusanagi greeted him as he came inside, glancing up from his tablet with a small smile. “We’re all done on deliveries, and it’s nearly five... Bandou’s back from break any second and he can handle any that come in from now until the café closes. You can head on home if you want.”

That actually sounded great – Yata nodded back at him, raising his hand in a thumbs-up before moving forward to lift the counter so he could get by. Normally he’d stick around and handle deliveries until well into the evening when Scepter 4 locked up, but today… Even with the recent success, he was pretty sure hanging around the coffee shop was going to end up being a pain. Better to just go home and play some video games or something to let off steam and relax.

_Hopefully the rest of the challenges aren’t as crappy as this one!_

“Good work today,” Kusanagi remarked as he made his way into the back room, patting him on the shoulder, and Yata blinked back for a beat before smiling sheepishly back.

At least he knew everyone here had his back, one way or another.

Anyway, he’d made it through the work day, and if everything went well, he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else. It was about twenty minutes to get to his apartment building on his board, and unless he ran into someone, he shouldn’t have to talk. Really, once he was out of here, he was pretty much home free. _Got this!_

As he was hanging up his apron, he couldn’t help but wonder about how Fushimi had managed. Had he fucked up, or was he doing about the same? Yata frowned a bit, turning it over in his head. How were they going to figure out who won these kinds of things if both of them managed to do it in the end? Would it just end in a tie?

_Well, whatever._ He picked up his skateboard from where he’d left it leaning against the wall while he’d untied his apron, tucking it under his arm as he headed for the door. He wasn’t going to lose, and that was the important part. A tie was no big deal.

Anna was sitting at one of the stools near the counter when he came out, a teacup in her hands. “Goodbye, Misaki.”

“Good luck with the rest of the day,” Dewa put in, as he opened up the hinged counter to go through.

Eric’s quiet voice added, “See you tomorrow.”

Yata half turned to offer them all a grin and a wave as he reached the front door – and ended up colliding with someone coming in. The air was knocked out of his lungs in a rush, and he heard a grunt from the guy he’d just bumped into as they halfway fell into each other, caught on the still-open door.

The apology was almost out before he’d realized it, and he actually had to choke it back. _Shit! Hopefully someone will explain for me…_ Trying for his most sheepish grin, Yata looked up –

 – and found a way too familiar pair of cool blue eyes staring back at him from behind wide-rimmed glasses, at a distance that was uncomfortably short.

For the second time in less than a minute, he had to physically restrain himself from blurting something out. _What the hell is he doing here, anyway?_ Yata scowled up at Fushimi’s mildly startled face, watching as the threads of irritation started to spread across it. Those thin lips tipped down, eyes narrowing.

At this angle, he could clearly see just how long and dark Fushimi’s lashes were, stark against his skin tone and clearly visible even through the thick lens of his glasses. Yata sucked in a breath, still glaring warily – but a lot of his irritation seemed to have gone. He felt restless in a different way: heart still racing from the collision, skin tingling, and shoulders tense.  It was kind of fascinating seeing that beautiful but unpleasant face up close like this… They were still kind of jumbled together, almost touching, and it felt kind of – maybe – warm. Or something…

Someone coughed behind him. “Yata-san,” Dewa said in a mildly admonishing way. “Not in front of Anna, come on.”

Eric made a soft, derisive noise. “I’d rather you didn’t make lovey-dovey eyes in front of us, either.”

“Wai _\- What?_ ” Yata jerked at that, spinning around before he could properly think about it and feeling his face begin to burn. “What the hell are you – ?”

Belatedly, he caught himself, slapping a hand over his mouth – but the damage was done.

_Fuck…_

He could see it in the face of his friends, going from surprised to sympathetic even as he stared back at them, his own horror turning rapidly into frustration. His eyebrow twitched. _Goddamnit…_

Behind him, Fushimi made a kind of self-satisfied-sounding hum, and that pissed him off more than anything.

“Shut up, and _fuck you!_ ” Yata whirled on him, mouth twisting into a scowl even as he glowered at his smirking opponent. That expression was so annoying… He seriously had no right to look that smug. “If you hadn’t come charging in here and bumped into me, I’d have had this!”

After all that effort and holding back, too… _This seriously pisses me off!_

Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him without losing the smirk, somehow managing to speak volumes with just that, and Yata clenched his teeth. “Yeah, enjoy the victory on this lousy challenge, monkey,” he ground out. “Just you wait!”

He got another of those smug-sounding hums in response, and Fushimi’s eyelids lowered, lashes coming down again lazily. Yata let out a sharp ‘ch’, fully irritated by the whole business, and moved forward to go through the door, bumping against Fushimi’s shoulder purposefully as he did.

_There’d better be a good challenge tomorrow!_ He dropped his board once he was on the sidewalk and kicked off, ready to ride out this restless frustration and the sting of the recent loss.

The all-too-close memory of that slender-boned face was still replaying in his mind like a taunt, and even the familiar rush of the breeze in his face and the feeling of his body in motion couldn’t seem to wash it out.

 

* * *

 

 

“Make a stack of pancakes from scratch”.

Fushimi could feel his eyebrows drawing together in something like a mix of perplexity and annoyance as he stared at the board. _What kind of challenge is this?_

It wasn’t like he cooked, but it didn’t strike him as something that was difficult to do. Sure, just like with any skill, there were those who could do better than others, and it could probably be honed, but he’d never felt the need and didn’t usually have the patience to mess around when it came to food. Protein shakes and energy bars were sufficient when he was at home, and boxed lunches from a convenience store got him through most work days – assuming he could easily pick out the parts he didn’t like.

_Well, it can’t be too difficult to follow a recipe._ He pulled his phone from his pocket as he moved past the board, bringing up the browser and typing into the search bar one-handed to find a result. There were concrete steps and measurements in cooking, so he was confident he could manage.

Which was probably more than could be said for a certain idiot. Fushimi felt a faint smile building on his lips, and resisted the urge to feed into it. He couldn’t afford to get overly cocky yet – although yesterday had gone more or less as he’d expected, at least in terms of how the challenge had played out. The memory of Yata’s angry face from the moment of that win was satisfying – a sight he was feeling confident he’d get to witness again soon.

Still, his mind kept skipping over that moment to just before it, which was kind of irritating. Fushimi’s small smile shifted to a frown, his thumb pausing over his phone’s screen. It bothered him that he couldn’t seem to get that face out of his head – kept seeing on repeat the moment that some of the wariness had left those fierce eyes and he’d been able to watch at a close range as the expression that went with them shifted to something softer and less hostile. Yata’s face was fascinating – it was an open book of his emotions. In that one short instant, it had been hard to look away from him, and something in Fushimi’s chest had felt like it was constricting, shortening his breath and making him feel briefly disoriented.

_There’s no point in thinking about that now._ Pushing that memory deliberately out of his head, Fushimi focused on the search results instead, bringing up one of the more promising pages.

It didn’t seem like making pancakes from scratch was that complicated. He could easily make use of the small kitchen they – well, mostly Kamo, to be honest – used to make refreshments and treats that customers could order. The café wouldn’t be open for another hour or so anyway, and he doubted it would even take that long to make a reasonably sized stack.

_Seems like this will be another easy win._

 

* * *

 

 

“Morni – whoa!” Hidaka’s expression went from neutral to alarmed within seconds of opening the door to the back room. He looked around sharply. “Was there a fire?”

“Eh…” From the corner of his eyes, Fushimi could see Kamo shooting him a discreet sideways glance; the older man coughed, and then continued carefully, “Not exactly…”

Fushimi clicked his tongue sharply, turning away before Hidaka’s curious gaze could turn his way and scowling at his computer screen instead. He was keenly aware of the wet patches on his work clothing and the flour marks he hadn’t been able to completely get off, but that didn’t mean he was going to answer every nosy idiot’s questions about them.

The burning scent originating in the kitchen had permeated almost the entire back area of Scepter 4, although the traces of smoke left after the fire alarm had gone off were mostly aired out. The kitchen itself was still intact, although a sink full of dishes, spilled batter on the counters, and patches of burned pancake on the stovetop were left in the wake of the failed cooking experiment.

_It wouldn’t have been a failure at all if the idiot who wrote those instructions bothered to be clear about it._ It hadn’t explained how to beat an egg, for example – wouldn’t anyone expect to apply force? Assuming that everyone would just _know_ that it was done in a bowl with a whisk or fork was stupid. And there had to be some trick to getting the mixture smooth that the website hadn’t explained, because even after stirring it, pockets of flour had seemed to appear as if by magic in the depths of the bowl of batter.

It didn’t help that nothing had told him how much cooking spray to apply to the pan. He’d erred on the side of caution, which turned out to be a mistake – and to top it off, the instruction that said three minutes on one side obviously hadn’t counted on “medium” heat being a poor indicator of what temperature the stove needed to be at. The smell of charred spray and doughy batter was revolting.

It was ridiculous, in the end. Fushimi narrowed his eyes at his monitor, irritation rising. He’d followed the instructions perfectly fine. It wasn’t his fault that they were written by an incompetent and lazy idiot.

“Fushimi-san made pancakes,” Goto pointed out, very carefully avoiding Fushimi’s glare, and tipping his head in the direction of the break room. “For the challenge.”

“Really?” Hidaka actually seemed to brighten a little at that. When Fushimi looked up, cautiously, his co-worker was smiling at him. “If there’s any left, do you mind if I have a taste, Fushimi-san?”

Goto’s normally placid eyes widened a little at that. “Uh… Hidaka… wait, I don’t think – ”

“It’s okay, I’m sure it’s fine!” Hidaka actually looked pretty enthusiastic about it. “This is the first time Fushimi-san’s actually baked anything, so it’s at least worth trying, right?”

There didn’t seem to be any mockery in that expression. Fushimi stared at him suspiciously for another second, and then clicked his tongue, turning away again. “If you really want to, go ahead.”

“I’ll just help myself, then!” Hidaka moved towards the break room, either oblivious to or just ignoring the dubious stares of his co-workers.

There was a moment of nervous silence in his wake.

Kamo cleared his throat, delicately. He was holding his cell phone in one hand. “Can one of you run a location check on a missing device? Benzai’s waiting.”

“I got it,” Goto responded, looking a bit relieved to have the tension broken.

“Okay! I’ll read it out to you.”

It was irritating that they even felt the need to tiptoe around this. Fushimi resisted the urge to click his tongue, still frowning at his screen as he tried to keep his attention on the code in front of him. Technically, he’d made a stack of pancakes, and so the challenge was complete. They didn’t have to be _good_ pancakes, after all.

_It doesn’t matter._ He focused on typing rapidly, deliberately ignoring both the smell and the strain in the air. _It’s not like that idiot is going to be able to do any better. I’d be surprised if he can even read a recipe, much less follow it._

That thought was a small comfort, anyway.

The handset sitting on one of the spare desks buzzed to life, and Doumyouji’s voice broke the silence brightly. “Hey, if anyone wants pancakes, there’s a bunch up for grabs out here!”

There was a moment of startled silence; Kamo and Goto exchanged glances.

Fushimi was already on his feet once he’d processed the word ‘pancakes’, stalking towards the door. There was a fire starting in his belly already, a kind of unpleasant flare-up of anticipation and dread. _It can’t be…_

As it turned out, though, it could. Yata was already looking in his direction before he’d even come out of the back room, a cocky sort of grin on his face and a covered plate in each hand. “Yo, monkey! Care for a pancake?” The grin widened into a wicked smirk as he met Fushimi’s glare directly. “Or are you going to tell me you’re already full?”

That did look like a stack of pancakes in his right hand – and one extra on the plate in his left. _Actual_ pancakes, even – not like the charred mess Fushimi had left in the break room. He clicked his tongue, frown deepening as he approached the front. _How?_ “Is that what those are supposed to be?”

“What, are you telling me you can’t even recognize the real thing?” Yata looked disgustingly pleased with himself, holding up the stack confidently. “What kind of pancakes did _you_ make, then?”

Fushimi ignored the question, his eyes on the plate as he searched for some kind of flaw to exploit. In the background, he was vaguely aware of Fuse coming through the front door behind Yata, shooting them a quick, curious glance before brushing past them without bothering to ask or even comment. Doumyouji called a greeting after him, apparently oblivious to the tension.

“They’re full of dark spots,” Fushimi pointed out after a moment, feeling a tiny bit of relief as he noticed the blemish. The possibility that Yata had outdone him so thoroughly had been worrying.

“Ah, right! I added some blueberries for a little extra flavor.” Yata shifted his gaze to the pancakes himself, with obvious satisfaction. “They turned out pretty delicious! You guys can all help yourselves if you want.”

“Really? Blueberry’s my favorite kind!” Doumyouji leaned forward eagerly, eyes bright. “Is it okay if I grab a fork and dig in?”

“Of course! Tell the rest of your buddies, too!”

Fushimi scowled after Doumyouji as he scurried off towards the back room, then turned his baleful glare on Yata, who grinned back, looking unreasonably smug. “So? Gonna pony up your entry, or are we calling this a win by default?”

Frustration was already building at his core. “Where’s the proof that you even made these yourself?” Fushimi muttered in response, ignoring the request. “Anyone could have done the work.”

That, at least, would have made more sense than this idiot succeeding where he had failed.

“Hehe!” Yata didn’t seem at all bothered by that – if anything, his grin widened. “I thought you’d say that.” He set the full tray down on the greeter’s desk, reaching into the pocket of his shorts and pulling out his phone. “That’s why I had Anna take pictures of me while I was working on them. Here!” He unlocked the screen and thrust the device in Fushimi’s face. “See for yourself.”

The unpleasant reality of the loss was already leaving a sour taste in Fushimi’s mouth, but he took the phone and scrolled through the pictures anyway, feeling his mood growing blacker with each new shot of Yata efficiently preparing his batter. There was even a well-timed shot of him flipping a pancake from the pan with evident ease.

“I can cook a lot of things, actually,” Yata was boasting, as he finished with the photos. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even make my famous Yata-rice some time and share it with you guys. Oh – and that reminds me.” He plucked the phone back out of Fushimi’s hands, forcing the second plate into them instead. “Here, this one’s yours.”

His fingers were curling around the sides of the plate before he’d thought about it, and that tight feeling was back – just like the other day when they’d bumped into each other. It was difficult to breathe. Fushimi looked down at the single pancake on the plate – which, on first glance, didn’t seem to have any of the dark spots that the others did – and then turned his gaze back up to Yata’s face, somehow finding that proud smile less irritating. His stomach did a little flip, and something in his chest seemed to turn.

_Annoying…_ Fushimi pushed that unnerving feeling down, forcing himself to regard his opponent with suspicion. “Why?”

“’Why’?” Yata repeated, and then shrugged. “I figured you’re not the kind of guy who likes overly sweet stuff, so I diced up some pineapple instead of blueberries for this one. Turned out pretty good, actually. Try it!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. _Of course this moron would miss the point._ It was pointless to even have this conversation. “I don’t want it.”

Yata looked mildly disgruntled, but he was still quick enough to raise his hands and push the plate back when Fushimi tried to force it on him. “Well, you got it anyway.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like you have to be grateful or anything. I mean, it’s just part of the contest, right?”

_Just part of the contest…_ That was right – this wasn’t anything special, after all. A tiny hint of something that felt suspiciously like disappointment swirled up within Fushimi, and he ruthlessly suppressed it. “I don’t need your gross pancake experiments.”

“What, like yours are so much better?” Yata challenged. He stepped back, bracing his hands on his hips and regarding Fushimi with stubborn obstinacy. “Come on, let’s see ‘em!”

There was a moment of telling silence between them. Fushimi clicked his tongue and turned his gaze to the side, thoroughly irritated.

“Heh. That’s what I thought!” Yata sounded infuriatingly triumphant. “You just avoid saying anything when you’re annoyed with your options, right? I’ve only known you for a few days, and even I picked up on that habit of yours.”

That was a frustratingly close strike. _Why are you talking like you know anything about me?_ Fushimi turned his gaze back to Yata’s bright, stupid grin, frown deepening. _What do you even care?_ There was a rush of something like want – or even longing – rising at the back of his throat, which was both alarming and baffling. He didn’t want anything from this obnoxious moron, other than to claim another victory, which was clearly not happening. _So why…?_

The receiver at Fushimi’s belt suddenly buzzed to life. “Uh, Fushimi-san?”  Fuse’s  voice came through, breaking that confusing and tenuous connection between them without ceremony. He sounded perplexed. “Hidaka’s not looking too good – I think he tried to eat whatever those burnt rubbery things are in the break room. Goto’s asking the captain if it’s okay to let him go home, and we figured someone should let you know.”

Of all the things to bring up… Fushimi clicked his tongue, clenching his teeth briefly as Yata let out a bark of a laugh. “’Burnt rubbery things’, seriously? Cooking’s not one of your strong points, huh?”

“Shut up,” Fushimi muttered back, thoroughly out of sorts now, and turned away with the intention of heading to the back room.

“So it’s definitely my win today, monkey!” Yata called after him, loud and confident. “Don’t forget!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Fushimi paused long enough to shoot a disdainful look over his shoulder. “Enjoy it now while you have the chance, since someone obviously took pity on you with that ridiculous challenge.”

“Hah! We’ll see about that.” Yata’s answering smirk was full of cocky surety; it was irritating to look at. “Just wait!”

It wasn’t even worth responding to that.

In the end, Fushimi did eat the pancake that had been forced on him – it was already there, after all, and he hadn’t had breakfast, as usual, so there was no harm in at least trying it. The pineapple flavoring was odd, but the hint of sour that came with the usual sweet flavoring wasn’t entirely bad. He couldn’t say he particularly liked or disliked it.

Still, somehow he ended up eating the whole thing, and chalked up the strange warmth building within him to indigestion. It made more sense that anything else, at that point.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Tell a scary story in an empty classroom’.

The icy shudder that run up along the line of Yata’s spine when he read the newest challenge was involuntary and immediate. He scowled at the board, trying to cover the sense of foreboding. _Why does it have to be in a classroom?_

Not that he was all that keen on scary stories in the first place, but… seriously, what the hell? Didn’t the person who wrote the challenge know how many creepy things happened in empty school buildings? Telling ghost stories there was asking for trouble!

The sharp, familiar click of a tongue cut into his thoughts, and Yata looked up to see Fushimi standing in front of him, staring at the board with mild irritation. “Scary stories in a classroom? Is the person who writes these a middle schooler?”

“No idea.” A lot of the frustration Yata had felt towards Fushimi seemed to have cooled after yesterday’s challenge. It was a relief to know there were things he could do that this arrogant guy sucked at, at least. Although part of him couldn’t help but wonder what the hell kind of diet Fushimi had if he couldn’t even make pancakes without screwing it up.

Well, not his problem. “Why, you scared?”

He kind of hoped Fushimi was, so he could win the challenge quickly and not have to linger. Who the hell would want to hang around a school?

“Don’t be stupid.” Fushimi shook his head, looking mildly annoyed – which, to be fair, seemed to kind of be his default. He let out a short sigh. “I’m guessing we’ll need to go with more than just the two of us, so that someone can judge who _tells stories_ the best.” There was a scornful note in his voice, and he clicked his tongue before adding, “What a pain.”

“Yeah. Right. A pain…” Yata reached up to scratch the back of his head, a bit nervously. The thought of telling _those_ kinds of stories in an empty place after hours was already causing his stomach to form knots of dread and anxiety. _This jerk will definitely make fun of me if he finds that out, though…_ “We should go early and get it over with. Like – like sneak in after classes end. Or something. Right?”

Fushimi looked up and met his eyes, gaze seeming almost cuttingly sharp. “Club activities happen after classes end, remember?” He clicked his tongue. “We’re going to be breaking and entering regardless to get this stupid thing done, so we might as well do it when we’re _not_ likely to be caught. But if you want to make even more of an idiot of yourself, feel free to do that without me. I have work to finish up tonight, anyway.”

Yata scowled back, disgruntled at the correction. “Whatever, fine – I forgot, okay?” _An empty classroom at night…_ He tried not to think about the kinds of rumors he used to hear in middle school. “Anyway, is there even a school around here?”

“Who knows.” Fushimi raised his eyebrows condescendingly. “I’ll let you figure it out for yourself. If you manage that much, I’ll see you at the front door after nine.” He turned without waiting for a response and started back the way he’d come.

Yata sputtered briefly, then glared after him. “Like I need your help anyway!” He fixed his scowl on Fushimi’s retreating back for an extra beat or two before letting out a sharp exhale and turning abruptly in the opposite direction. “Damn monkey…”

Empty classroom or not, he was definitely not gonna lose!

 

* * *

 

 

The nearest school was elementary level, and it was actually closed, due to fully half of it being blocked off for repairs and renovations. The gate was marked with all kinds of warning signs and the front door was locked, which was only a small hindrance considering some of the specialized skills Scepter 4 employed.

_It’s probably a good thing we got here first. I’ll bet that idiot would’ve smashed a window in._

It had taken five minutes to walk there from the bus station – which was actually the station directly after the one near Homra – so the trip wasn’t exactly time-consuming or bothersome. Enomoto – who had been the first volunteer when Fushimi had brought up the challenge – spent most of it talking about how to create a spooky atmosphere while telling ghost stories, with Doumyouji – the second volunteer – chiming in at key points to add useless examples and agreement. They’d almost ended up with a third person joining them, but Hidaka was still looking a little under the weather, and Akiyama had told him as kindly as possible that he’d be better off going home early again.

_Well, it’s not like I’m probably going to need most of this advice._ Fushimi had some suspicions regarding Yata’s slightly odd behavior at the challenge board, and if he was right, it wouldn’t take much to win this. Still, the previous day’s defeat rankled. He wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating the task this time, regardless of how dumb it was. During his lunch break, he’d spent some time looking up several different horror stories and committing them to memory, and he was sure he’d be able to recite any of them without any trouble.

If, by some miracle, his opponent was actually good at this, Fushimi was still confident of his chances at winning.

_It’s a stupid challenge in the first place, so that’s not exactly much of an achievement, though._

“There they are,” Doumyouji piped up suddenly, cutting off Enomoto’s enthusiastic – but useless – rambling about the properties of a really good ghost story. “That didn’t take too long!”

Fushimi glanced over in the direction of the front gate. Yata was wearing a black beanie and carrying his skateboard under his arm, flanked by his (much taller) friends. He’d brought along three people, as it turned out – the big one whose name Fushimi hadn’t been given, one he was sure he’d seen working in the coffee house at some point, and a third he didn’t recognize.

Not that it mattered.

“Yo,” Yata greeted him, more subdued than usual and looking a bit disgruntled for some reason – as if he’d somehow hoped that Fushimi wouldn’t actually be there at all. “I brought some friends – these guys are – ”

“Not interested,” Fushimi cut him off without hesitation. The last thing he needed was to have more names in his head for people he didn’t care about. His memory wouldn’t let him forget, after all. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Yata scowled at him, eyebrows coming down. “You don’t have to be a fucking prick! Anyway, maybe the friends you brought along aren’t rude as hell and actually want an introduction, huh?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning back. Somehow, still, he wasn’t entirely comfortable referring to his fellow employees as ‘friends’. He couldn’t help the strong impulse telling him that even the ones who’d worked most closely with him would deny it. “They’re just co-workers.”

“Fine, your _co-workers_ – whatever!” Yata was shifting on his feet, looking unusually antsy, though his glare was just as fierce as ever. “Anyway, like I was about to say, this is – ”

“I said I’m not interested.”

“Then _plug your goddamn ears_ , you rude-ass monkey!” Yata snapped back. “Quit interrupting me!”

Fushimi gazed back at him, unimpressed. “Quit saying stupid things, and I’ll think about it.”

Yata’s hands balled into fists and he glowered back, a low growl escaping his throat.

“So! Doumyouji Andy here,” Doumyouji cut in cheerfully, taking advantage of the momentary silence. “Nice to meet you!”

“Ah… right…” Enomoto shot Fushimi a quick, hesitant glance, and then smiled sheepishly. “Enomoto Tatsuya.”

“Hey.” The big guy held up a casual hand, apparently not bothered by the earlier argument. “Kamamoto Rikio.”

The one Fushimi didn’t recognize nodded in acknowledgement. “Bandou Saburouta.”

“Akagi Shouhei here!” the guy from the coffee shop counter added, with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you guys, too!”

“There, introductions done!” Doumyouji announced, and blinked, tilting his head a bit when Fushimi turned to shoot him a baleful look. “What? You wanted to get going, right?”

“See? Not everyone’s as rude as you, _monkey!_ ” Yata had folded his arms over his chest, offering a smirk when Fushimi looked back over at him. “Not that hard, was it?”

_Not unless you count the annoyance._ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Do you have any other excuses to stall, or can we get on with this already?”

Yata jerked with clear guilt at that. “Wha – ? I’m not stalling!” He scowled back defensively. “Why the hell would I stall?”

“How would I know?” Actually, Fushimi was pretty sure he _did_ know, but he wasn’t going to say it until he’d been proven right. He turned away, reaching for the door handle to enter the building. “Stop being an idiot, and let’s go.”

“L-look who’s talking!” Yata sputtered, the lame comeback preceding his furious footsteps by only a split second as he stormed up to the door. “I’m coming, all right? Happy?”

Fushimi rolled his eyes upward, but couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that came with his opponent’s strangely nervous behavior. “Thrilled.”

The inside of the building was still, and a bit stifling. A plastic cover had been spread across the hallway to the immediate left of the entrance where the building was being gutted in preparation for whatever work was going to happen there. The rest of the place felt stale – it obviously hadn’t been aired out in some time, and summer weather was coming on quickly now. Today had been particularly warm, muggy because of the showers they’d had earlier in the week, and the humidity lingered in the building. It wasn’t a very pleasant feeling.

One of Yata’s friends – Bandou, Fushimi’s memory supplied – whistled. “Not too friendly in here, huh?”

“Well, it is supposed to be closed,” Enomoto pointed out. He was looking around with satisfaction. “This is the perfect place for ghost stories, actually!” He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Just take in that atmosphere…”

“What? What atmosphere?” Yata glanced around in a jittery sort of way, crossing one arm over his chest and hunching forward almost defensively. “It’s just a normal school. It’s normal, right? Anyway, why would you say there’s an atmosphere? What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

That was a satisfying sort of reaction. Fushimi turned to the right without waiting for someone to try and answer – if there was even a good way to answer that useless mess of questions. “Let’s just find a classroom and get started.”

The first doors – on either side of the hallway – were the bathrooms, but past that, they found a classroom without any trouble. The desks and chairs had all been conveniently stacked, so the floor was clear. Rather than disturb anything, they ended up sitting in a loose circle on the floor – which felt ridiculous, and probably looked even more so, with seven full-grown men arranged like they were doing introductions in pre-school. To make matters worse, Yata was sitting to Fushimi’s immediate left, which had been agreed on as the best arrangement with the two of them being the ones telling the stories. He wasn’t clear on the logic behind it – normally, Enomoto was one of the easier members of Scepter 4 to talk to, but when you got him going on something he was enthusiastic about, he had a tendency to get very obscure. It didn’t make a difference, though. Soon enough, if Fushimi was right, he’d be done with this and up one more victory.

Yata was already fidgeting; when Fushimi glanced sideways at him, he’d hunched his shoulders inward again and he was looking around the room nervously. There was obviously no power, so the only light was from the moon shining through the open window, and in the dark, Yata almost seemed to have shrunk into himself, dimmed and muted. It could’ve been his posture, though – every time Fushimi had seen him in the past, he seemed to be trying to puff himself up and look bigger, and now it was like he was attempting to be as small and unnoticeable as he could.  

_It doesn’t suit him._ The thought snuck into Fushimi’s head before he could stop it, and he looked away, frowning a bit. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought it in the first place. He didn’t care what did or didn’t suit Yata, after all.

“So. Uh.” Yata cleared his throat, obviously doing his best to hide his nervousness. “How do we decide who goes first?”

“I don’t care either way.” It was unlikely that he was going to run out of stories before this ended, regardless. “Pick whichever you want.”

“Right. Yeah.” Yata made an effort to straighten up, raising his voice as if to try and cover his own anxiety. “I’ll go first, then!”

_Not that it’ll do you any good._ “Go ahead.”

“Yeah! I got this!” The forced enthusiasm made it obvious that Yata was psyching himself up. Even in this kind of situation, he was ridiculously easy to read, every little emotion plain on his face and in his posture.  He leaned in towards the center of the circle, eyes full of determination. “This story starts in a school just like this one – ”

“Under construction?” Doumyouji interrupted, eyes bright.

Yata shot him an irritated look. “Okay, fine, a school like this one _was_ when it wasn’t under construction! Can you shut up and let me do this?”

“Right, sorry!”

“All right - like I was saying…” Yata squared his shoulders, jaw set and posture rigid. “In this school, there was a rumor, which nobody wanted to admit they believed in but everyone just kind of went with anyway – a rumor that the last stall in each of the washrooms was haunted.”

It felt like something cold and unpleasant ran down Fushimi’s spine at that introduction, and he scowled a little. _This story, huh?_ It wasn’t like he was scared of it anymore, but his memories of it weren’t good ones. When he’d come across it in his search, he’d deliberately moved on, but obviously Yata hadn’t.

_Well, whatever._

“The rumor said that whenever someone sat in the stall, a voice would speak up out of thin air, and ask you if you want red or blue paper. Answering the wrong way meant certain death, but none of the students could agree on the right way to answer.”

It was weird the way Yata told it. Fushimi watched him sharply. He seemed to have forgotten his earlier anxiety and was speaking earnestly, as if he was actually one of the participants and truly believed in the so-called rumor. In a way, that was kind of reassuring.

Probably not the expected reaction to a scary story, but that worked to Fushimi’s advantage, anyway.

“Most of the students would just kinda avoid that last stall in case the rumor ended up being true, so nobody really used them. But there was a new kid in the school who didn’t believe it. The guy decided he was going to prove the rumor false, and went ahead into the last stall.”

The casual speech was a little distracting, to be honest. Still, he at least seemed to have everyone’s attention – Fushimi glanced around the circle, gauging reactions. No one looked scared, but they were listening intently.

“Sure enough, when he sat down, the voice spoke up out of nowhere. _‘Do you want the red paper? Or the blue paper?’_ it said.”

The pitch and timbre of Yata’s voice was unnecessarily overblown; Fushimi let out an amused huff, ignoring the glare he got in response. Yata cleared his throat, and continued.

“The guy was kinda freaked out by this point, but he figured – okay – red paper is like blood, so blue is better, right? So he said ‘the blue paper’. Then, outside the room, all the other kids heard a scream, which cut off in a hurry. When they ran into the washroom, they found his body, s-strangled and blue in the face.”

The brief stutter spoke volumes; Fushimi watched out of the corner of his eyes as Yata swallowed hard, making a noticeable effort to compose himself. “Anyway!” he went on, a bit too loudly, “The school was closed for a while, and when it re-opened, all the kids were even more set on not using that last stall. But there was another new guy, and he figured there had to be something else going on. So he went ahead and did it, and sure enough, the same voice spoke up: _‘Do you want the red paper? Or the blue paper?’_ ”

Fushimi hummed low at the repeat of the ridiculous voice. Yata scowled at him, letting out a soft ‘ch’ before going on.

“The new guy obviously panicked, but he kinda remembered about what kids said about the first time, and he figured since the other guy’s face was blue, that meant blue was the wrong answer. So he said ‘the red paper’. Still, outside the room, they heard a scream and then this awful g-gurgling noise.” Once again, Yata had to gather himself, hands balling up into fists in front of him. “This time no one wanted to run in, but a teacher eventually had to, and they found the guy all s-sliced up, the bathroom floor coated with” – he noticeably swallowed again, and when he finished, his voice had weakened – “b-blood.”

_It’s your story, so why are you getting affected?_ Fushimi shut his eyes and smiled a bit, keeping the comment in reserve for later. A glance around the circle didn’t show any additional nervous faces.

“A-anyway!” Once again, Yata’s voice was loud – just on the edge of being shrill. “Two deaths were enough for the admins and stuff, so they closed the school down, and all the students went off to other schools. The place was closed up, but one day a homeless guy was hanging around, and he really needed a place to piss.”

_What, seriously? Why would a homeless guy care where he pisses?_ Fushimi was starting to wonder if Yata had come up with this version of the story on his own. It wouldn’t be surprising, honestly…

“So the guy broke into the school, and he went in to use the washroom. He went into the last stall just randomly, and that’s when he heard the voice asking, _‘Do you want the red paper? Or the blue paper?’_ ”

This time, Yata shot a dirty look in Fushimi’s direction, obviously expecting an interruption. Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him in return.

“Right, so anyway, the guy doesn’t know what to do, and he’s never heard the rumor before, so he just kinda wings it and yells back, ‘No paper!’ This time, there’s no one around to hear any screams, and no one comes in.” Yata shifted, took in another long breath, and lifted his chin again, stubbornly. “Two days later, the demolition guys come in to tear the place down, and they find the homeless guy, wide-eyed and frozen with a look of horror on his face… dead from f-fear.” His hands clenched harder in their fists, and then, all at once, he seemed to relax, shutting his eyes and letting all the air out of his lungs. “Whew! Okay!”

Kamamoto let out a whistle, raising his hand in an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “That was great, Yata-san!”

“Not bad!” Bandou agreed.

“The mood was good,” Enomoto pitched in, smiling kindly. “It wasn’t bad at all.”

Doumyouji sighed. “Now I’ve gotta go to the washroom!” He pushed himself up to his feet, almost reluctantly. “Be right back.”

“Huh? Seriously?” Yata stared at him, eyes going almost comically round. “You’d really go to the bathroom after a story like that?”

“Why not? I really have to go, you know…”

“Not everyone’s affected by your lame ghost stories like you are, Misaki,” Fushimi drawled out, letting his gaze rest lazily on his opponent. “Especially not a story you tell to scare kids in elementary school.”

Yata glowered back at him, lips twisting down into a scowl. “What the hell are you talking about? That story is creepy as hell! What kind of asshole would tell it to a kid?”

The echo of a mocking snicker rose up with disturbing clarity from Fushimi’s memory, along with the words that had accompanied it at that particular time. _“Oh? My little monkey’s starting school today, huh? Want me to tell you something good?”_

_Pointless._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, the remnants of his satisfaction dropping off. It wasn’t like he was in grade school any more, and he’d gone past the time when that man’s lies seemed like any kind of truth. It wasn’t worth it to linger.

He couldn’t always tell what would trigger something like that, though, unfortunately.

“Well, either way, I’m off!” Doumyouji’s untroubled voice cut into the silence. He stepped out of the circle, heading for the door. “Go on ahead without me, Fushimi-san – I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Yeah.” _What’s the point of you even coming if you’re not going to listen and judge this?_ Still, it didn’t really matter. Based on Yata’s reactions to his own story, this was probably not going to take much longer. Fushimi pushed up his glasses, leaning forward and deliberately slowing his voice. “Actually, this story is about the dangers of storytelling.”

“H-huh?” Yata jerked beside him, and Fushimi could see the whites of his eyes lit up by the moonlight in the dark room. “Wh-what kind of lame story is that? Storytelling isn’t dangerous, right?”

The note of uncertainty in his voice was amplified by the way he glanced around the circle, seeking reassurance. Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Why not wait until I’ve told the story before deciding? You had your turn already, so shut up.”

Yata crossed his arms over his chest and frowned back, but went silent.

“After a full-day field trip outside the city, a group of students along with a teacher were coming back to the school by bus,” Fushimi began, once again deliberately slowing and lowering his voice. It seemed like some of Enomoto’s tips were coming in handy, after all. “It was past sunset, so the road was dark and empty. It seemed like not a soul was alive outside of their bus.”

They were all staring at him now, with varying expressions of interest. Yata looked vaguely nervous. _Good._ “Because of the atmosphere, the teacher thought it was a good idea to tell the students a ghost story. When he tried to think of one, an old story that he couldn’t remember the origin of came into his head right away. The name of the story was Cow Head.”

Yata huffed a bit of a derisive snort. “Cow Head, really?” he muttered.

Fushimi deliberately ignored him, continuing with the story as if he hadn’t interrupted. “The main problem with the story was that when he thought about it, he couldn’t quite remember the details or how he came to know it. But he really strongly felt that this was the perfect mood for the story, and he could remember exactly how it began, so he started there. The entire bus went quiet as the teacher stood and called for attention, and then the story began.”

He paused there a moment for effect, noting that he once again had everyone’s attention. There was a rhythm and cadence to storytelling, apparently, and once you figured out the pattern, it wasn’t hard to replicate. _At least this challenge is less illogical than cooking._

“In the beginning, everything was fine. All of the students, and even the bus driver, were listening to the story and enjoying the mood. However, as the story went on, one by one, the students began to notice that their teacher was becoming more involved in it. His eyes seemed to gleam, and his voice deepened, growing in volume and intensity. It was like he was possessed.”

Fushimi paused again, making note of the intent expressions around him and the way Yata was fidgeting, his shoulders hunched over again and his hands fisted in his lap, so tightly that they were trembling a little with the effort. His eyes seemed impossibly huge.

_Probably not much longer, huh?_

“The students began to scream for the teacher to stop, and the bus driver tried to slam on the breaks, but the bus no longer stopped and the teacher couldn’t stop speaking. His voice grew louder and more frenzied as he desperately recited the story that he couldn’t even remember. Even the screaming of the people on the bus couldn’t overpower his voice.”

Yata sucked in an audible, shaky gulp of air beside him.

“The bus never made it back to the city,” Fushimi continued, reaching up to push his glasses on his nose again and shutting his eyes briefly. “When people went out to look for it, they found it in a ditch, overturned. All of the passengers were foaming at the mouth, seemingly in a trance, and they had to be shaken awake. None of them could remember what had happened, or even that a story had been told. And their teacher was nowhere to be found. He’d vanished.”

The gazes of the four audience members were rapt, but not overly scared. Which… wasn’t important really. Beside him, Yata was noticeably shaking, his jaw quivering as if his teeth wanted to chatter but he was doing his best not to allow it. His expression was full of almost comical dread.

This was a good position to deliver the final blow. “After that, at the school that the students were from, there were claims that the teacher was seen in the hallways, his eyes wild and his expression intent. If any group of students were ever telling stories in a classroom, the door would swing open, and the form of the teacher would join the circle, speaking into any silence with, _‘Should I tell the story, Cow’s Head?’_ ”

There was a moment of silence as the end of the story sunk in.

Before anyone could react beyond that, the door to the classroom suddenly swung open.

The scream from beside him nearly ruptured Fushimi’s eardrums; he would’ve been reeling just from that, but at the same time, Yata flung himself sideways, grabbing at Fushimi’s shirt in an effort to… well, it wasn’t totally clear. He may have been trying to get a meat shield between himself and whatever had just entered the room, or it was possible he just needed to cling to something in terror, and Fushimi was most convenient. Either way, he hadn’t been prepared for it, so with a startled grunt, he overbalanced and fell back into a heap on the floor, Yata’s body landing on top of him.

He was heavier than he looked. Most of the breath left Fushimi’s lungs when they hit the ground, and he entertained himself for a good few seconds afterward with wheezing gasps for air. Yata was a trembling mass of wiry muscle on top of his chest, tensed up and still clinging to Fushimi’s shirt as they both processed the shock.

“I’m back!” Doumyouji’s voice announced, into the chaos. There was a beat, and then, “Huh? What happened?”

_You tell me._ Fushimi had recovered most of his breath, and raised his head slightly to frown at Yata with annoyance. He reached up to straighten his glasses as best he could and prodded at Yata’s shoulder with his other hand. “Hey. Get off of me, you idiot.”

Yata’s fingers twisted in his shirt; he slowly raised his head, some of the terror clearing from his expression as he met Fushimi’s gaze. His eyes were startlingly bright at that close distance, and he blinked slowly, startled and a little dazed as he stared back. The beanie had been knocked askew and it gave him a disheveled look, hair sticking out at all angles and mouth open in a kind of dumbfounded way.

That same tight, clenching feeling from the past few days started up again in Fushimi’s chest. He was uncomfortably aware of Yata’s torso pressed up against his, warmth building fast at the points where their bodies connected. Something like a shudder of electricity seemed to run up through his entire body, and he stared back dumbly for a moment, reason abandoning him.

_Close…_

“Uh…” Kamamoto coughed, sounding awkward about it. “Yata-san…?”

“Eh?” Yata blinked again, seeming to snap out of a trance, and then his eyes widened and his expression shifted to alarm. “AH!” He scrambled up off of Fushimi, releasing his hold and pulling back his hands as if they’d been burned, muttering a few curse words under his breath and refusing to make eye-contact.

Somehow, that flustered reaction set off another of those little shivers, and Fushimi scowled, annoyed with the entire business. He lifted a hand to shove Yata further from his personal space, pushing himself back to a sitting position as he did and then reaching up to adjust his glasses again. “Are you just not capable of reacting to anything like a normal person?” he grumbled, out of sorts.

“Sh-shut up!” Yata still wasn’t looking at him, rubbing the back of his neck and scowling irritably off to the side. “Anyone would’ve been freaked out by – ”

“No one else in this room screamed like a five-year-old,” Fushimi interrupted him, blandly.

“I didn’t _scream like a five year old_ , goddamnit!”

“In any case,” Fushimi went on, as if that protest hadn’t been made, “I think we’re done here. It should be obvious who the winner of this challenge is, right?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Yata demanded crossly. “My story was way better than your stupid Cow Head one!”

“My story caused a certain someone to scream and jump at me,” Fushimi reminded him, raising a condescending eyebrow. “Your story reminded someone that he needed to use the bathroom.”

Yata glared back at him, nonplussed, and then abruptly turned his furious gaze on the rest of the circle. “You guys are supposed to be judging this, right? Who was better, him or me?”

Enomoto straightened in his seat, looking quite serious about it. “Both of the stories had good scare value,” he noted. “Fushimi-san definitely created a better atmosphere, though.”

“Plus, there was the jumping and screaming after,” Doumyouji chimed in, helpfully.

“You weren’t even here!” Yata shot back at him, scowling, and turned his attention to his own friends. “You guys have my back here, right?”

“Eh?” Kamamoto’s eyebrows went up; his mouth twitched a little with obvious discomfort. “Uh… the truth is, Yata-san…”

“Both stories were pretty intense,” Akagi said earnestly. “It’s just… you know…” He scratched awkwardly at his cheek with one finger, letting that trail off.

Bandou offered a sheepish grin. “Actually, Fushimi told his a little creepier in the end.”

Fushimi allowed himself a slow smirk, eyeing his opponent with a certain amount of triumph as Yata gaped at his friends in shocked disbelief. “It’s probably not the best idea to compete in a scary story competition when you’re afraid of ghosts,” he drawled, and deliberately drew the rest out, “Mi. Sa. Ki.”

The helpless glower he got in response pretty much completed the victory right there.

_That makes two._


	4. Chapter 4

‘Spend an hour in a dangerous place after dark’.

_Huh._ Yata blinked at the challenge post, one foot still on his board as he considered it. _A dangerous place…_

He wasn’t exactly a stranger to dangerous situations, considering his past, but an actual place that was dangerous on its own... Yeah, that might be kind of tricky to find.

Still, once he found one, hanging out there for an hour should be no problem, after dark or not. _I’ll just ask Kusanagi-san to help me find a place. Or maybe one of the others, who knows._ Yata grinned to himself, his thoughts going to the worn baseball bat he’d kept at the back of his closet all this time. Even after you gave up on that kind of stuff for a more peaceful life, it didn’t hurt to have a weapon handy just in case. This was the perfect chance to get some use out of it again.

“What are you so happy about?” Fushimi’s low, grumbling voice pulled him out of that thought; when he looked up, his opponent was standing to his right, regarding him with a sharp, wary gaze. “You’re not worried about spending time in some place that’s dangerous?”

“Heh! Are you kidding?” Yata straightened, offering a smirk in return. “Danger is nothing to me! What about you – you scared?”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be stupid.”

He definitely didn’t _look_ scared – and, actually, as someone who worked for a secret spy agency, he probably wasn’t. “Well, I’m not gonna lose this one!” Yata declared, sliding his board back and forth under his foot restlessly. _I’ll spend two – no, three! – no, maybe four hours in this place, wherever it is. I’ll hang out there all goddamn night! Just wait!_

“We’ll see.” Fushimi shrugged, clearly unconcerned, and the corners of his mouth tipped up a bit in a small, condescending smile. “I guess to an idiot, real physical danger would be less of a concern than imaginary things like ghosts, huh?”

Yata scowled back, feeling his cheeks grow warm with the reminder of his recent failure and public humiliation. “Th-those two things are totally separate!”

“True,” Fushimi agreed, in that hatefully slow, mocking tone. “Like I said, one’s real and one’s imaginary.”

“How the hell would you know if they’re imaginary?” Yata challenged, feeling belligerent. “Anyway, I’m strong, so physical danger’s no problem. You can’t punch ghosts.”

“And you know this from… what?” He got two raised eyebrows that time. “Personal experience?”

“Shut up! That’s just common knowledge!” Yata drew himself up as much as he could, glaring back. “Anyway, you got lucky with that last one, but there’s no ghosts in this challenge, and that’s why I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Fushimi made a low, amused sound. “I’ve heard that before.” He turned abruptly in the direction of his workplace – an obvious dismissal. “Good luck finding a dangerous place to spend time without getting haunted by ghosts,” he tossed back without looking, “Misaki.”

Just the way he said the name had fire scouring up through Yata’s veins. “Quit calling me that, you damn monkey!” He scowled at that thin back, caught between irritation and the itching, anxious feeling that seemed to be getting stronger around Fushimi over the past few days. He hadn’t been able to put a name to it, but it kept nagging at him in the back of his head, persistent and painful and pleasant all at once. It was stronger when he could actually _see_ Fushimi, but it came up even when he thought about him, too.

Kind of annoying, really.

_Well, whatever._ Yata huffed out a sigh, shoving that feeling aside as he kicked off to head back to Homra. It was already Saturday, and he was down two to one on these challenges, so he really needed a win to start his comeback. _Wonder what would net me more points – finding a more dangerous place, or staying in a dangerous place longer?_

If it came down to, the answer was pretty simple. _I’ll just have to find the most dangerous place, and stay there as long as possible!_ He was pretty sure he could get to wherever he needed to be before it started to get dark – and tomorrow was his day off anyway, so he could stay out all night if he had to. The only thing left was finding a super dangerous place and the rest would be easy.

It wasn’t like there was any kind of danger he couldn’t handle, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

_An hour in a dangerous place, huh?_ Fushimi frowned at the screen of his laptop, considering the latest challenge while his coffee cooled on the break room table in front of him. Something about it seemed half-assed. Why an hour? It felt like an arbitrary length of time, however he looked at it – and what was the point of it being after dark? Then there was that ‘a dangerous place’ bit – was it necessary to be so vague? Why not specify, the way the previous challenge had done?

Come to think of it, none of the challenges had seemed to fit into any kind of pattern. He wasn’t sure if he was dealing with a kid or a really useless adult who had moments of insight. Pointless insight, even – wasted on daily challenges that meant nothing.

_Not that it makes a difference._

Either way, he had to find a place that was dangerous enough to match or outdo whatever Yata came up with, and despite the fact that the challenge specifically said ‘an hour’, if he wanted to win, he’d probably need to stay in that place overnight.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, more than a little irritated with this unpleasant prospect. He didn’t have to worry about being at work early on Sunday, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t pulled all-nighters in the recent past, but the added complication of ‘somewhere dangerous – not any specific place, just some place that poses an arbitrary level of threat’ muddied the waters enough to make this a pain. He wasn’t about to risk bringing his laptop, so he’d have to rely on his phone to keep himself occupied if the ‘somewhere dangerous’ wasn’t entertaining enough on its own.

He could already feel the headache brewing. _Well, there’s no point in thinking about this now._ He could secure a stronger lead if he beat Yata on this challenge, so that was worth aiming for. _For starters, I should find a place that would qualify as dangerous._

“Hard at work, I see.” Munakata’s distinct voice cut through the silence in the break room; when Fushimi looked up, his superior was standing in the doorway, hands tucked behind his back. “Are you not on a break at the moment, Fushimi-kun?”

_As if I haven’t worked through my breaks before._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, leaning back in his seat and regarding his boss without feeling any particular resentment for the interruption. “I’m not really working. This is for today’s challenge.”

“I see. In that case, please forgive my intrusion.” Munakata made no move to enter the room, but he tilted his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are your impressions regarding the challenges so far?”

“It’s fine.” _You’re the one in charge here – you can intrude wherever you want._ “If you want my honest opinion, I think most of them are ridiculous. Whoever writes them seems to change moods on a whim, and there’s nothing particularly worthwhile in any of the things they ask you to do. It’s meaningless.”

“I see.” Munakata’s smile widened; he shut his eyes and made a small, amused sound. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

Fushimi was familiar enough with that reaction by now to know what it meant. “What’s your opinion, then?”

“Rather than an opinion, I’d prefer to think of it as an observation.” The Captain’s gaze was thoughtful and keen as he met Fushimi’s eyes. “In the case of a daily challenge, one would assume that the tasks are intended to prompt the individual attempting them to find their own sense of meaning and purpose. To put it simply… it is what you make of it.”

That was exactly the kind of needlessly complex thinking that Fushimi had expected. He clicked his tongue. “I suppose.” _I’m not doing this to find meaning, either way._ “Well, as long as I can win, it shouldn’t matter what my opinion is, should it?”

“Indeed not.” Munakata inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the point. “However, it is interesting to consider the perspective of the participants in such a contest. I appreciate your willingness to indulge my curiosity on the matter, Fushimi-kun.”

“It’s not a big deal.” It wasn’t like he’d done anything special, after all. Fushimi frowned slightly. “Was there anything else?”

“No.” As if he’d taken that response as a cue, Munakata turned to leave the room. “Best of luck with your investigation,” he added, just before exiting. “I look forward to the results.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue at that, turning his attention back to his laptop. _Of course you do – you’re the one who formalized this ridiculous business, after all._ Though, if he were being honest, he’d have to admit that the addition of rules and structure had made things easier in terms of actually _winning_ the challenges. He could have argued with Yata endlessly over who had won last night if not for the stipulation that neutral observers would determine the outcome.

He wasn’t willing to admit it to his boss’s face, but he had to (grudgingly) admit to _himself_ that the whole thing really had worked in his favor.

_Not that that’s important right now._ The vague discussion about ‘meanings’ clearly had something to do with the Captain’s true intentions regarding this challenge, although Fushimi wasn’t entirely clear yet what those intentions were. He didn’t like the feeling of being manipulated, but at this point, he was at least used to the fact that his boss would trust and make use of his particular skills to achieve whatever goal he was aiming for.

There was an unpleasant memory lurking at the back of that thought, but Fushimi pushed it down ruthlessly. It was pointless to dwell on those things.

Still… ‘ _What I make of it’, huh?_ That brought the recent image of Yata’s indignant, flushed face from earlier to his mind, and Fushimi couldn’t help but smile a little, satisfaction settling within him. Being able to evoke that kind of reaction was enough to make the annoyance of the challenges worth it, at least. So maybe there was meaning to it, after all.

Now that he was thinking about that conversation… Something in it was nagging at him – a vague sense that he was overlooking an obvious answer. Fushimi frowned slightly, staring at his laptop screen with narrowed eyes as he went over the things they’d said to each other. Nothing in the conversation was particularly enlightening. He’d taken the opportunity to rile Yata up; in this case, talking about his irrational fear – and the corresponding lack of rational fear that made it even more idiotic. Rather than worrying about ghosts, though…

_… Huh._

There it was.

_That simple, huh?_ Fushimi almost felt irritated that he’d missed it earlier. Still, in the end it didn’t matter – he now had a worthwhile location for the nebulous ‘dangerous place’ from the challenge, so at least that part of it was done.

At this point, it was just a matter of waiting until it got dark.

 

* * *

  

The now-familiar recorded voice of the operator telling him that his call could not be completed came through the speaker on Yata’s phone again, and he let out a sharp, agitated ‘ch’, pulling the device away from his ear to stare at it with helpless frustration.

_What the hell? Why won’t it go through?_

He’d been trying to contact Kusanagi all morning and into the afternoon, and so far, things weren’t looking too good. It wasn’t unusual for this older friend to be out for a whole day at a time, especially if Totsuka had a specialist appointment on the other side of the city, but Yata hadn’t thought it’d be this hard to get hold of him.

It was really shitty timing, considering he only had a few more hours until it started getting dark.

Yata pressed his finger down hard on the ‘End Call’ button, cutting off the recording before it finished, and reached up to rub at the back of his neck with a heavy sigh, trying to figure out what his options were.

So far, none of his friends had been any help coming up with a dangerous place – Chitose’s suggestion had been his ex-girlfriend’s apartment, which he’d seemed weirdly earnest about, and Dewa had added to it with a shrug and a nod. Following that, Eric had pointed out that he didn’t make a habit of hanging around dangerous places, and maybe Yata should do his own research since it was his challenge, after all. They’d gotten into a brief, one-sided argument about whether or not _finding_ a place was part of the challenge or not; Yata was still pretty sure he was right, but whatever.

Anyway… no help from there at all.

He lowered the cell phone, leaning back against the wall in the break room and staring blankly at the mismatched couches and chairs they’d filled the place in with. It still smelled like cigarette smoke, even though Kusanagi hadn’t been in at all that day – like the scent soaked into the furniture or something. It was kind of comforting, in a way. That smell was familiar, from past days and carefree times.

_Probably shouldn’t think about that now, though…_

“Misaki.” Anna’s quiet voice snapped him out of that haze; when he looked over, she was closing the door behind her carefully, large eyes turned to stare at him with a kind of questioning calm. “Did you reach Izumo?”

“No luck yet.” He offered back a small, rueful smile. It was hard to hold onto any kind of frustration or irritation around her. That gaze seemed to reach right into his soul and soothe whatever ache he felt. “Well, it’s no big deal! I’ll think of something, just wait!”

She smiled back, stepping into the room. “Another delivery order came in. Yu and Masaomi are making the drinks now.”

“Right – got it!” He pushed away from the wall, reaching for his skateboard, and grinned up at her. “Leave it to me!”

As he headed past her for the door, she asked, in that same quiet voice, “Are you having fun?”

“Huh?” Yata paused, resting his hand on the handle as he turned to face her again. “What d’you mean?”

“Your competition with Saruhiko.” Anna was staring up at him with the kind of guileless innocence that only a girl her age could really get away with. “Is it fun?”

“Eh… fun, huh?” He lifted his hand from the handle, scratching at the side of his mouth a bit awkwardly as he thought about it. Having to keep quiet while everyone ragged on him was just kind of frustrating, and then getting that smug look from Fushimi after he fucked up was just icing. Last night had been even worse – not only getting scared, but being outvoted by his own friends, and humiliated in front of everyone on top of it. It wasn’t exactly what he’d call ‘fun’.

But then… Making those pancakes and being able to rub it in Fushimi’s face had been kinda fun.

A surprisingly vivid image of Fushimi’s startled expression when he’d pressed that plate with the pancake into his hands flashed into Yata’s head suddenly, making him pause. For just an instant, when he’d done that, there had been something like bewilderment and a faintly starved look on that normally bland face, and Yata’s heart had maybe skipped a beat. Or something. The single pancake had been kind of a whim – he’d wanted to show off his skill more than anything – so that reaction had been gratifying.

And then Fushimi had gone back to full ‘jerk’ mode and that was the end of that. But it still kind of stuck in his mind, somehow.

_Well, whatever._ Yata pushed that thought – and the image that went with it – aside. “I guess, sometimes?” He shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish about it. “Y’know, when it’s not something creepy. Right?”

He was expecting at least a smile out of that one, so it was kind of a surprise to see Anna’s forehead wrinkle, a thoughtful frown coming onto her face. “What was creepy?”

“Ah…” Somehow, now he felt a little awkward, and he wasn’t too sure why. “Don’t you think telling ghost stories in a deserted classroom is sorta creepy?”

Anna’s frown deepened; she brought one bent knuckle to her lips, lowering her gaze as if in thought. “Why?” she murmured, almost to herself. “Was it the classroom? Or the stories?”

_What’s with this atmosphere?_ Somehow, Yata felt like he’d said the wrong thing, but he wasn’t sure why. “Well, when you have both together, it’s kinda…” He shrugged, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he thought about how to describe it without making this worse. “Anyway, it’s not like it’s creepy just to be in a classroom at night! But, y’know, that school’s got this weird feeling since it’s been deserted for a while with the – ”

He stopped there, fingers stilling as the realization hit. _Ah…_

Right. _Right._

That was perfect!

Anna was staring at him curiously when he zoned back in. “Misaki?”

“Anna!” He beamed back, bringing his hand down to clench into a triumphant fist. “You totally just saved me! I know exactly what I’m doing for this challenge, and it’s thanks to you! You’re seriously awesome!”

She blinked at him for a beat, and then smiled slightly. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Right?” He quickly turned the fist into a thumbs-up, straightening. “I’ve totally got this now! I can’t believe I didn’t think of – ”

“Order’s up, Yata!” Chitose’s voice called out from the front.

“Oh, yeah…  Sorry, guess I’d better go.” He offered a small, apologetic shrug to Anna and then turned to yell back, “Coming!” as he reached for the door again.

“Misaki,” Anna called after him; when he paused to look back at her, she offered a simple, “Good luck.”

He grinned back. “Thanks!”

_Not that I’ll need it – now that I’ve got the perfect place, this challenge is mine!_

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining when Fushimi made his way to a familiar front gate – one of those summer showers that only felt refreshing when the sun wasn’t beating down and making everything muggy – but even with the cloud cover, it was clearly still a good fifteen minutes before dark. As expected, the place was deserted.

It was exactly as they’d left it the night before. Minus the unpleasant dampness.

_There aren’t too many people stupid enough to break into a school that’s under construction, huh?_ Fushimi curled his lip with a bit of sardonic amusement, gripping the handle of his umbrella. He hadn’t dressed for rain – actually, he’d just managed to cover his work shirt with a light sweater – but it wasn’t exactly cold, and being wet wouldn’t kill him. _Well, the challenge specified ‘dangerous’ – that’s stupid as it is._

All things considered, it made more sense to just enter through the side that was being worked on. That was where he was going to have to go, since the part of the school they’d been in the night before was too safe to qualify, and there was no point in picking a lock just to have to cut through a construction barrier to get where he needed to.

Fushimi skirted the fence and the various danger signs and Keep Out tape without particular difficulty – the ground was slick, but his work boots were designed for all kinds of weather, and he’d been out on field work in worse conditions. So far, it seemed like there hadn’t been much done on the construction project – at first glance, the second half of the school seemed to be quite a bit older than the part they’d entered last night. The foundation had sunk quite a bit, and the supports looked to be under a lot of stress due to the obvious slant. One of the walls was very clearly bowed.

It was definitely not a safe place to be, and Fushimi was starting to question his life choices just looking at it.

On the other hand, assuming he wasn’t crushed by the building finally collapsing, this was definitely the winning choice in the challenge. The place _itself_ was dangerous, which fit the wording in a more literal sense than some gang hideout or a shady neighborhood. Unless his opponent somehow found a building that was in worse shape, he could likely use that logic to earn the victory.

It was still a stupid thing to do, but…

Fushimi clicked his tongue. _I must be just as much of an idiot as he is._ Under the circumstances, Yata was definitely the type to go charging ahead without even thinking about the possibilities. Usually, Fushimi wasn’t quite so eager to risk his neck for something as meaningless as a challenge.

But then… if this place had stood this long, he had to assume it would make it for one more night. Assuming his luck wasn’t _completely_ terrible, it should be fine to just sit in a corner until morning.

Well, there wasn’t a lot of time to sit around and think about it, if he wanted to be inside before it got dark. Fushimi surveyed the outside of the building quickly, looking for the best opening. Most of the windows had been boarded up, but in the corner next to the bowed wall, it looked like someone had ripped out the boards on one of them, smashing through the glass with some kind of blunt object and jarring the window open forcibly. It was quick, dirty, thug work – much sloppier than Fushimi preferred.

And also quite recent, on closer inspection.

_Someone else is inside._ That sent a familiar shiver along his skin; Fushimi instinctively tensed, aware of the knives resting in the holsters around his body. These days, most of what he did for Scepter 4 was office work, but old habits died hard, and the memories weren’t so far in the past that he’d go without weapons altogether. As a concession, he’d cut the number of them down in his casual everyday life, citing the possibility of an emergency mission as a reason to keep the rest in place. Neither Munakata nor Awashima had raised any objections.

Right then, he was glad he’d followed his instincts on that score. Fushimi carefully folded his umbrella and tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie before hoisting himself through the window and making an effort to drop in as quietly as possible. A quick survey of the room didn’t show anything out of place – it was another emptied classroom, if the blackboard was any indication, and there were no signs of movement.

Someone was moving out in the hall, though – and making no effort to be quiet about it. Now that he was inside and the rushing sound of the rain had turned into a light pattering on the roof, Fushimi could hear the footsteps gradually coming his way.

_Of course they are._ That was just his luck.

There was a spot near the door where the floor beneath him felt… uneven. Shaky. Fushimi found more solid ground to the right, and did his best to tread lightly, sinking into the darkness beside the sliding door that led out into the hall. If whoever this person was entered the room, he’d be able to get a look at what he was up against before they managed to realize they even had company. It was entirely possible that they were about to leave anyway, having accomplished whatever mischief had prompted them to break in, in which case there’d be no need for a confrontation at all.

And if they wanted a fight… well… Fushimi discreetly nudged one of his knives free, dropping it into his waiting palm hilt-first as he slowed and quieted his breathing.

The footsteps were close now… just outside the door…

Fushimi finished his last slow inhale and held it as he watched a shadowy figure step through the open door, strolling carelessly over the shaky spot that noticeably shuddered under their feet, the flooring groaning ominously. The clear outline of a baseball bat was braced on one shoulder, and the person was short – a teenager, maybe, or –

Or.

_It can’t be…_

The figure in front of him turned his head to the side, and in the dim light still streaming through the open window, Fushimi recognized Yata’s frowning profile, beanie once again tucked on his head and bat held in one fist like some kind of juvenile delinquent.

_Typical._ Fushimi let out his breath in a rush, annoyed with himself for having gotten so worked up over nothing. “You’re here too, huh?” he muttered, not bothering to keep the resentful tone from his words.

Yata tensed and whipped around, wielding his bat like a club, his eyes narrowed and fierce before Fushimi’s voice registered and he seemed to recognize who was standing in front of him. He slouched noticeably, face twisting into a scowl as he let the bat drop. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“What do you think?” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him, drawing the words out deliberately. “The same as you, obviously.”

Yata’s scowl deepened; he made a sharp ‘ch’, eyeing Fushimi with obvious irritation. “So? How are we supposed to decide who wins if we’re both here in the same place?”

“How should I know?” Fushimi discreetly tucked the knife in his palm back up into its harness, shifting his weight away from the wall. There was an alarming-sounding creak, like the dying groan of a wounded animal; he narrowed his eyes and tensed, a little alarmed. “Oi…”

“What?” Yata braced a hand on his hip, oblivious to the way the atmosphere had changed. “One of us is obviously gonna have to find somewhere else, right? And since I was here first, that means – ”

Another ominous-sounding creak cut him off, louder and longer this time; Yata glanced around, startled, body tensing as if in preparation for a fight. “What the – ?”

_The rain._ Fushimi turned his gaze up and to the right instinctively, cursing himself inwardly for having overlooked that potential danger earlier. He’d been too focused on another intruder being present. But now that he looked, the bowed wall was heaving ominously, the building stress nearly at its breaking point and amplified by the downpour generating additional weight on the roof.

_This place is ready to come apart at the seams…_

Yata hadn’t noticed the danger, either – his gaze was still darting nervously around him even as Fushimi could see the weight of the wall starting to fall in on itself.

“Idiot!” he snapped, and before he knew it, he was jumping forward, making a grab for Yata’s wrist and yanking him in the direction of the door to the hall. “Hurry and – !”

The rest of the demand was lost; as he tugged Yata forward, a significant portion of both of their weight fell into the soft spot on the floor he’d felt earlier. It was like everything moved in slow motion – the feeling of the ground dropping out beneath his feet had Fushimi’s stomach bottoming out similarly.

The roar of the building starting to fall apart around them almost drowned out the sound of Yata yelling as they fell down into open space.

 

* * *

 

 

Stinging pain and warmth beneath him were the first sensations to break through the haze of shock around Yata’s brain. Without thinking, he brought his hands up under him and pushed himself to a sitting position, cursing under his breath as a few tiny bits of debris tumbled loose, leaving the various abrasions free to make themselves known. It was pitch black, and his eyes hadn’t adjusted, but the ground beneath him felt… surprisingly soft.

He didn’t think he had any broken bones, and no large wounds. Just scrapes and bruises.

_What happened?_

There was a groan from beneath him, and the source of the warmth that was still braced between Yata’s knees shifted. As his eyes started to adjust and the dim light from above him registered, he gradually became aware that he was actually propped up above Fushimi, who was just starting to squint up at him with dazed eyes behind his skewed glasses.

Not just that, though – one of his hands was still resting on Fushimi’s chest, and he was straddling his hips.

_Fuck._ Yata felt his face start to burn without really knowing why, and scrambled off in a hurry. The surface beneath them was scattered with more debris – though not as much as he would’ve expected, considering it had sounded like the entire building fucking collapsed or something – but it had a surprising amount of give. It felt like… a mat of some kind.

As he was pondering that, eyebrows furrowing, something lit up brightly beside him. When he glanced over, Fushimi was sitting up, his glasses straightened and his cell phone in one hand. The bright light was coming from the back of it.

“What’s that?” Yata stared at, blinking slowly.

Fushimi raised his eyebrows but, surprisingly, didn’t make a comment. “Flashlight function,” he said instead, shortly. “Yours probably has one too, if you’d bothered to look for it.”

Yata scowled back at him. “I’m not really into tech stuff, okay? I just use it to make calls and texts.”

“I would never have guessed,” Fushimi drawled. He already seemed to have lost interest in Yata, aiming the light back above them and following it with his gaze. “Huh. So that’s what happened, is it?” he mumbled, almost to himself. “I’m not sure if we’re lucky or unlucky.”

“Huh?” Yata squinted up at the ceiling. There was a large, rectangular hole visible above them – far above them, actually; it was damn lucky those mats were there, or they’d probably both be in a lot worse shape – with a similar-sized rectangular piece dangling from one side of it. Beyond that, he couldn’t see much. “What is that?”

“A door. Probably the entrance to this cellar.” Fushimi lowered his phone, aiming the flashlight around them instead. “The hinges must’ve given way when we both put weight on it.” He was frowning as he made his survey. “I can’t say if being trapped down here is better or worse than having a wall fall on us.”

“Oh.” So that awful sound from earlier had been a wall falling in? Yata’s mind shuddered away from what might have happened if Fushimi hadn’t pulled him back. _Guess I owe him one…_ Then his brain caught up to the rest. “Wait, what do you mean ‘trapped down here’?”

“The door is up there,” Fushimi pointed out, without seeming to bat an eye. “There’s no ladder down here, which means it was probably lowered from the top. Anyway, it doesn’t look like anyone’s been down here in ages. There’s dust everywhere.”

That was true. Yata looked around at what he could see of the room in the limited lighting. Aside from the mats they’d fallen onto, which kind of looked like old worn-out gym mats, there were a few broken chairs, some really old-fashioned looking desks, and some other pieces of outdated gym equipment. There was an obvious coating of dust and cobwebs everywhere, except for where they’d disturbed things.

And no other door that he could see.

“Goddamnit!” Yata brought a fist down hard on the mat, frustration building fast within him. His heart, which had slowed considerably as they’d taken stock of their surroundings, was starting to pound hard against his chest again, as restless and anxious as he felt in this helpless situation. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“Good question.” Fushimi was scowling down at his phone; after a beat or two, he clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. “There’s no signal down here, by the way – at least, not right in this spot.” He shifted to move off of the mat. “I’m going to see if there’s a place where I can pick up something.”

The instant he pushed himself up, he let out an audible grunt and one of his legs seeming to buckle, depositing him back on the mat with a ‘thump’. Yata jumped up from his own seat, alarmed. “Oi… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Fushimi gritted out, glowering at him, and stood deliberately, taking a step forward. The expression on his face tightened slightly, as if he were fighting a grimace.

_‘Nothing’, my ass…_ Yata frowned, narrowing his eyes as he watched Fushimi take his time wandering around, holding up his phone. “Hey… you’re hurt, right? Should you really be walking around like that with – ?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue sharply, cutting off Yata’s concern. “Still no signal,” he muttered, focusing on his phone. “We’ll have to wait until either someone figures out where we are or the construction workers come in to work on this place.”

That was an effective distraction; Yata deflated, staring at Fushimi with dismay. “Seriously? That means we could be trapped down here for a whole day! Are we just gonna go without eating or drinking?” An alarming thought occurred to him then. “Wait – what about when we have to piss?”

“Shut up already with your idiotic worries,” Fushimi snapped at him, scowling as he turned around. “What do you expect me to do about all that? I’m not any happier to be stuck down here than you are.” He stared slowly back towards the mats, brushing past Yata deliberately. “Figure it out for yourself.”

Yata clenched his fist, ready to snark right back, but as Fushimi turned to sit himself back down, he jostled his leg against the uneven stack of mats. Letting out a muffled grunt of pain, he toppled down much harder than he’d obviously intended.

“I knew it – you _are_ hurt! Dumbass!” Abandoning the argument for the moment, Yata stepped over and knelt beside the injured leg, taking hold of Fushimi’s ankle before he could protest. As expected, there was a dark spot seeping through his pant leg just above the boot. “Why the hell would you just ignore it? You’re gonna make it worse!”

“Shut up,” Fushimi grumbled, but he didn’t make any move to shake off Yata’s hands. When Yata looked up, he was deliberately glaring down at his phone, as if trying to pretend the entire situation wasn’t happening.

_Seriously?_ “You stupid, stubborn…” Letting out a frustrated growl, Yata started to shrug off his hoodie. He considered the thicker fabric for a brief second, and then abruptly pulled his T-shirt over his head instead.

Now Fushimi was looking at him; Yata could feel his gaze, even without looking up to meet it, and was disturbingly aware of his own bare skin. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” Yata muttered back, feeling inexplicable warmth rising on his face. He wasn’t sure why it was even a big deal – they were both guys, after all – but he somehow felt exposed under that gaze. It was the weirdest thing. Doing his best to push the feeling aside, he tore a long strip off of the shirt and reached down to wrap it around the wound tightly, binding it as best he could.

Back in the day, he’d had to do this a few times – even to himself, once or twice. Being in a gang meant getting roughed up here and there.

_Doesn’t seem like he’s much of a stranger to that part of it, at least…_ Yata leaned back into a crouch when he’d finished, looking up to meet Fushimi’s gaze. There was nothing particularly weird about that wary frown or those narrowed eyes, but somehow, he felt strongly that there was a question there.

_“Why are you doing this?” … right?_

He kind of wanted the answer to that himself. It wasn’t like they got along. Fushimi had him on edge from the start, pushing all of Yata’s buttons without mercy or hesitation. But that restless, anxious feeling whenever they were together or his thoughts drifted in that direction didn’t really feel like hatred. There was a grudging admiration in there somewhere, and maybe a certain amount of respect – as a worthwhile opponent, if nothing else. Most of the rest was a mystery, which just fed into Yata’s irritation. The immediate instinct to help when he saw the injury was tied in with it, in a way that didn’t quite make sense. He couldn’t place it, but for all that Fushimi pissed him off, ‘hate’ wasn’t the word he’d use.

_So… what?_

Apparently, he’d sat there thinking about it for too long, because Fushimi’s frown deepened. “What’s with that look?”

“Eh?” Yata blinked at him, realized he was still staring, and jerked his gaze to the side, scowling as he felt his cheeks grow hot. “N-nothing! Just spacing out.” He heaved a sigh, snatching up his hoodie from the ground and trying to recover the moment. “Anyway, that should work for now, but you’ll have to get it looked at after we’re out of here. Got it?”

“I don’t remember anyone appointing you as my caretaker,” Fushimi responded in that hateful drawl, raising an eyebrow when Yata turned his scowl upwards. “Anyway, I’ve had worse. You didn’t need to bother with it.”

“Well, too late! And I’d have done it anyway, even if you told me before.” Yata pushed himself to his feet defiantly, tugging his hoodie back on and zipping the front of it. “You said yourself we could be down here for a while. If you’ve had worse, then you know how bad it can get if you just leave it.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, upper lip curling. “Why do you even care?”

“Good fucking question!” Yata turned and dropped onto the mat beside him with another agitated sigh, tucking the remains of his T-shirt into the hoodie’s pocket. “I haven’t really… figured that one out myself,” he muttered, feeling awkward about it, and frowned defensively when he looked up to see Fushimi giving him a strange look. “A-anyway, that shirt’s cheap, so don’t think too much of it.” Another thought occurred to him, and he let the frown soften into a kind of rueful smile. “Besides, you went out of your way to save my ass up there, so this is the least I can do in return, right?”

For a brief second, Fushimi blinked at him, clearly startled, and then he clicked his tongue again and looked away, brows furrowing. “That wasn’t anything special. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Yata had a sudden flashback to the moment when Anna had thanked Fushimi, over a week ago, and felt the edges of the smile tip up before he could help it. _He’s not good with gratitude, huh?_ For all of Fushimi’s arrogance and condescending behavior, he sure seemed to be in a hurry to downplay his own good points. “Well, I thought it was pretty cool.”

Fushimi pushed his glasses up on his nose, glancing back almost warily. “You’re easily impressed.”

“Heh!” Yata grinned in response. For once, that restless anxiousness wasn’t making him irritable. It was almost nice, in a way. “You might be right about that.”

There was no response; for a moment, things went quiet.

It wasn’t quite awkward, but the atmosphere had a tentative feel to it that spread thickly between them. Yata wasn’t sure where to go with that, but there was a kind of anticipation charging up through his veins that made him feel strongly that he should say or do _something_. Fushimi was looking at him, without disdain or mockery or even that casual irritation, his face pale and shadowed in the uneven lighting and his long-lashed eyes visible even behind his glasses at this close range. There was something in his expression like bafflement, as if Yata was a riddle he hadn’t managed to solve, but he wasn’t saying anything – wasn’t asking questions or opening up any kind of discussion.

_Guess it’s up to me, then, huh?_

“Hey.” Even though he’d tried to keep his voice hushed, it sounded loud against the stillness around them. Yata cleared his throat, trying again. “There’s something I’ve been curious about. How’d you end up joining a group like Scepter 4, anyway?”

Fushimi’s frown deepened; he clicked his tongue and looked away. “Why would you be curious about that?”

“Well… you’re my age, right? Close to it, anyway.” Yata shrugged. Honestly, he’d been curious about Fushimi since they’d met, but he wasn’t about to ask when they were snarking at each other. He had his pride to think about, after all. It was different down here, though, with this kind of atmosphere; he felt like it wasn’t such a bit deal. “Plus, you’re kind of interesting when you’re not being a pain in the ass, y’know?”

“Hah?” Fushimi turned his head again, the expression on his face a curious mix of bafflement and something like mild frustration. “’Interesting’?” He snorted derisively. “Don’t make me laugh. Aren’t you constantly going on about how much I piss you off?”

“Yeah, you totally piss me off,” Yata admitted, without hesitation, letting out a huff of breath as he leaned back on his hands. “You’re rude and unfriendly, and you act like you think you’re better than the rest of the planet half the time – who wouldn’t be pissed off by that?” He glanced over to catch Fushimi’s nonplussed expression, and couldn’t help but crack a bit of a smile. “Besides that, though, you act super cool, you’re crazy smart, and you know how to do all kinds of shit I wouldn’t get even in a million years. So yeah, you’re interesting. What’s weird about that?”

Fushimi was staring at him like he’d grown a second head again. The honest incredulity in the reaction was kind of endearing in a way; it was like he’d gotten so used to being prickly and unlikeable that someone saying otherwise was a genuine shock.

_Well, that’s not really surprising._

It only lasted a second or so, though, and then he was narrowing his eyes again and clicking his tongue, lips turning down in a frown. “That’s a pretty simple way of looking at things.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a pretty simple guy.” Yata shrugged, grinning back. Despite the situation, he was feeling good. Something about getting to see these new sides to Fushimi was strangely exciting. “So? Are you – ?”

“You know,” Fushimi interrupted him, drawing his voice out the way he did when he was going to say something insulting, “the name of your coffee house, _Homra_ – that was the name of a gang in a different neighborhood at one point.” He lowered his eyelids, watching Yata from the corners of his eyes. “Did you know about that, Misaki?”

Both the topic and tone had Yata’s hackles raising – that, plus an additional little spike of irritation at the deliberate use of his first name, cut through the earlier good mood. He frowned back. “What about it?”

“So you did know.” Fushimi raised both eyebrows at that, condescendingly. “I’d think, knowing that, it might not have been the smartest decision to use it as the name of a business. Don’t you think so?”

Irritation jumped up quickly towards anger within him, rising fast at the back of his throat. “What the hell would you know about it?” Yata straightened, drawing himself up indignantly. “We’ve always been Homra, and always will be! None of that’s changed just because – ”

“Because Kusanagi-san’s bar was auctioned off?” Fushimi interjected coolly. He seemed to be watching Yata closely, eyes still half-lidded. “Or because Suoh Mikoto’s not there anymore?”

The reminder was like an icy fist closing around his heart. _He knows about Mikoto-san?_ At his sides, Yata’s hands clenched into fists. “Shut up.”

Fushimi let out an amused huff, shutting his eyes as his lips tipped up in a slight smile. “Well… I guess it would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? A new start in a different neighborhood, without your former gang leader hanging around bringing grudges your way…”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Rage blazed to life in his brain; without thinking, Yata shot his hand out and grabbed Fushimi’s collar. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, asshole!”

“Don’t I?” Fushimi smiled placidly at him, not even fighting against the rough hold. “What part of what I said was wrong, Misaki?”

_Don’t talk about Mikoto-san that way – Don’t talk about things you don’t understand – Don’t fuck with me – Don’t say that kind of shit about Homra –_ Those thoughts sprang immediately to Yata’s mind, swirling in his head as he glared at Fushimi, but despite the instinctual anger – the immediate urge to defend any possible slight against Homra – somewhere behind his fury there was an image that blazed more brightly. The image of a small, pale face. Large red eyes. A quiet smile.

_Anna…_

_“I don’t want to do things the way that Mikoto did.”_

The fire that had let in his brain seemed to extinguish with the memory of that clear, unhesitant voice. Yata released his grip on Fushimi’s collar at once, turning away from him and hunching his shoulders forward. With the anger drained out, all he had left was that sense of purpose – and regret.

_I never tried to understand him properly… but I’ll do my best for her!_

“Yeah,” he muttered, after a brief moment of strained silence, voice gruff. “You’re right.” He could feel the lump rising at the back of his throat with the grudging admission, and couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice when he added, “Mikoto-san… won’t be around us anymore.”

He could feel Fushimi’s eyes on him, but there was no response other than that.

_Well, whatever._ It felt almost unbearable to just sit there saying nothing. Yata huffed out a short, humorless laugh. “Like you said, if he came around, all the work to get this far could be wasted.” It was a bitter thing to say, but if Kusanagi could manage, he could too. “Plus, Anna might get targeted. Even the way it is now, we had a couple run-ins at the start…”

They’d managed, though. Despite everything, Homra was important enough to all of them to get through that stuff. Yata still strongly believed in that, after all they’d been through. Everyone there was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant starting again from scratch, over and over, when their hard work was vandalized and sabotaged.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you know all about that stuff, right?” It seemed like Fushimi knew everything, almost. “Guess that’s one of the perks, working for that kind of place…”

“Not really.” The slow, condescending edge seemed to have left Fushimi’s voice; he just sounded weary now. “Scepter 4 isn’t the kind of organization that punishes criminals, so a street gang has nothing to do with us – unless they’re involved in a case. I had enough information to work on Anna’s inheritance issue, and that was it.” There was a slight hesitation, and then, “The rest is from before.”

Yata glanced at him, startled. “‘Before’?”

“Yeah.” Fushimi turned to meet his gaze, head tipped forward and shadows hovering on the edge of his expression. “Most gangs make a point of at least knowing the names and leaders of the other ones,” he mumbled.

It took a second for the meaning behind those words to sink in, and then Yata’s eyes widened as realization struck. “You…”

Fushimi’s gaze on him was watchful. “You’ve heard the name ‘Jungle’ before, right?”

That was enough to summon up a scowl. _Those bastards…_ “Yeah,” Yata gritted out. “I know ‘em.” He didn’t know a whole lot about the online gang – technology wasn’t his strong point, after all – but it was their tip-off that had led to the attack on Totsuka, after all.

He hadn’t exactly been sad to hear about their servers being shut down and their leaders getting arrested. If anything, he was only sorry he didn’t get the chance to beat their asses himself.

“Most people do.” Fushimi’s voice was dry. He let out a short sigh. “I was a member.”

“Eh?” Yata blinked, staring back at him. The expression on Fushimi’s face was serious – he didn’t seem to be joking. “Wait – for _real_?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning slightly. “You’re a former gang member yourself, right, _Yatagarasu_?”

Yata bristled a little at the derisive tone. “Hey, that code name is cool, okay? But seriously, why _Jungle_?” Even aside from the fact that they were a bunch of assholes… “It’s not like they have a home base to hang out in or anything. You don’t even get to know who the other members _are_.”

“That’s what made it appealing.” Fushimi shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “The missions were easy, they paid well, and you didn’t have to waste time interacting with anyone.” He curled his lip a bit, eyes narrowing. “It was a pointless, stupid existence.”

“Huh.” Yata blinked again, not really sure how to react to that. _Is he slamming himself, or… what?_ Something occurred to him then, and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, how long ago was this?”

“Five years ago – four if you mean how long since I left.” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

That was a relief. Yata let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Just curious.” He hadn’t seriously thought that Fushimi might have had something to do with that tip-off – and honestly, now that everything was over, he was getting used to the fact that ordinary members weren’t worth holding grudges over. Slowly getting used to it. But he wasn’t sure how he would’ve felt about Fushimi being there when that had happened. The idea was unsettling.

He still didn’t really know why he cared. Fushimi felt like a giant mystery to him – swinging from irritable to insulting to moody to… whatever else he was, right now. Yata couldn’t figure it out.

One thing he did know was that his drive to know _more_ was as strong as ever. It was like Fushimi’s existence was a giant magnet or something. He didn’t know why, but despite the anger and the annoyance and the confusion, Yata couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

_I’ve gotta be crazy._ But he’d made it this far following his instincts… “So? How’d you end up in Scepter 4?”

Fushimi shrugged again, turning his gaze forward instead of continuing to meet Yata’s eyes. “A lot of things happened,” he murmured slowly, almost thoughtfully, and then turned back. “What happened to Totsuka Tatara?”

The sudden, frank question caught Yata off-guard. “Wha – huh? Wait, you don’t know already?”

He got another raised eyebrow at that. “I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

_Yeah right._ Yata scratched at the back of his head, under his beanie. It kind of felt like he was being deliberately distracted, but – well, maybe he wasn’t the only one who was curious. Maybe he needed to be the one to start this off. If he wanted to know about Fushimi, it was only fair if Fushimi got to know some stuff about his past, too, right?

And maybe, if he was totally honest, he was a little happy that Fushimi seemed interested.

“He was… shot from behind.” Even now, it was hard to talk about. The memory wasn’t a good one. “It hurt his spine. I don’t really know… y’know, the medical stuff. But I was there.”

There had been so much blood. Yata still felt sick to his stomach when he thought about it. Not that he wasn’t used to blood, but just knowing it was Totsuka’s had changed everything. He could still vividly remember how it had felt to hold his friend’s surprisingly light body in his arms and feel the thick damp soaking into his clothes and coating his skin. He had been frantic. Totsuka had smiled at him, mumbled something comforting, and then closed his eyes and gone still, and Yata had thought he’d died for real.

It was the most frightening, awful experience of his entire life.

“I held him,” he mused out loud, fingers curling together in his lap to hide the obvious tremor. “He was right there, and dying, and I…” It was hard to speak around the sudden lump that rose up in his throat again. “I…”

Fushimi’s eyes were on him, cool and serious, and somehow that impassive gaze felt oddly comforting. Yata swallowed. “I thought I felt his heart stop,” he admitted softly. This wasn’t something he’d told anyone, and he wasn’t sure why he was saying it now, to someone he’d known less than a month and continually argued with, but it seemed right somehow. “I’ll never forget what that felt like.”

Silence stretched between them. With the memory still fresh in his mind, Yata wasn’t too worried about it feeling awkward. It felt like anything Fushimi might have to say would probably be out of place, anyway. He didn’t want sympathy, and being told that it wasn’t that big a deal since Totsuka didn’t actually die probably would’ve pissed him off. It kinda felt like the silence was Fushimi’s way of saying he’d listened and he got it, so there was nothing to add.

“You,” Fushimi mumbled, finally, “didn’t really need to say that much, you know.”

… Or maybe that.

Yata turned his head to scowl, more out of habit than because the comment really annoyed him. “Oi… read the mood or something, dumbass.”

He got a raised eyebrow in return. “You’re the one who randomly decided to pour his heart out to me. What do you expect?”

“How’m I supposed to know? I just felt like saying it.” Yata heaved a sigh, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head, more out of awkwardness than irritation. It felt like the air had cleared a little, some of that heavy atmosphere dissipating. “Whatever, I’m not taking it back. It felt good to get that off my chest, y’know?” He managed a small, rueful smile. “Anyway, you’re kind of a good listener, I guess.”

Fushimi’s frown deepened; he stared at Yata for a second, looking vaguely disgruntled, and then turned his head. “It doesn’t exactly take much effort to just stay quiet and let someone ramble on.”

“Heh.” The smile widened into a grin. _There’s that habit again._ Now that he’d noticed it, catching Fushimi’s patterns was a little bit satisfying. “If you say so.”

That sharp, irritated ‘tsk’ answered him, and then Fushimi turned his head again, eyes narrowing a bit. “If you’re going to keep on babbling uselessly anyway, you might as well get on with it. Was the attack on Totsuka Tatara the reason why your leader decided to leave?”

It was a blunt question, but Yata found he didn’t really mind. _You could just be honest and say you’re curious, though._ “No, not yet. After… what  happened, Mikoto-san wanted to get that bastard and make him pay. All of us did.” It was easy to remember the rage and desperation. In those two weeks, he hadn’t slept or ate well, too focused on drowning out everything in a hunt for revenge. “It didn’t work out like that in the end.”

“It usually doesn’t,” Fushimi noted, almost idly.

That might’ve pissed him off if he was in a different mood. As it was, Yata huffed out a short breath, twisting his lips into a frown. “Yeah, well. Mikoto-san walked right into an ambush, on purpose, to get the guy. And it worked! But…” He grimaced, balling his hands into fists in his lap at the memory. “He… wasn’t okay, after.”

Fushimi returned his gaze without saying anything. The lens of his glasses reflected the light from his phone, seeming to glitter a little in the darkness as he tipped his head to the side. ‘Go on,’ the little motion seemed to say. ‘I’m listening.’

Yata took in a breath, letting it out again in a rush, and then went on. “I wasn’t there… I mean, I don’t know if I could’ve done something, but… I wish I was. He was alone, y’know? I regret it.” He let out a small, humorless ‘heh’. “I regret a lot of stuff. But anyway, he ended up in the hospital, too. Really messed up. They couldn’t even get him conscious for the longest time...”

It sounded so weirdly simple when he described it. Yata couldn’t handle even the second of silence that fell afterward, carrying on without stopping to think too hard about it. “Everyone left. I mean, Kusanagi-san had to deal with two people in the hospital, so I get it, right? He didn’t really have a choice but to sell the bar. And he was trying to help Totsuka-san. It wasn’t even like he gave up on Mikoto-san or anything. I see that now. But everyone just _left_ , like Homra was no big thing, and I mean, now I get that it wasn’t like that for anyone, but…”

He had to stop there, not really sure how to describe it. That feeling of being alone – of having any kind of meaning or passion or goal snatched out of his grasp. Frustration and aimless resentment that he didn’t quite know where to point. Everything important in his life just being… gone, all of a sudden. Dragging himself through the days, losing a little bit more hope and drive every time he skateboarded by himself without direction or purpose – every time he passed by the bar, and saw it closed off and empty – every time Kamamoto sent him a message that just said ‘Yata-san, are you okay?’ and he felt hopelessly, irrationally angry…

Every time he went to the hospital and stared at Mikoto-san’s unconscious face, still and powerless; unable to sustain Yata’s dreams and carefree happiness any more.

_I just selfishly pinned everything on you and did whatever I wanted…_

“You…” Fushimi hesitated for a moment after saying that, seeming to consider his words for a moment as he studied Yata with an unreadable gaze. “Somehow, I can see you being the kind of person to get frustrated when others don’t see things the way you do.”

“Ah…” That one stung, and not because it wasn’t true. When he combined that candid response with his current thoughts, Yata couldn’t help but deflate a little. “Yeah. Well. Can’t argue with that. You really need to hit me over the head with something when I don’t get it, y’know?” He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a brief bark of a laugh. “I’m kind of a blockhead, after all.”

“Yeah,” Fushimi agreed, without hesitation. “A blockhead, and a stubborn idiot with an incredibly simplistic view of the world. Easily angered, easily baited, and with a tendency to lash out first and apologize later.” He listed it all so easily and blandly that Yata couldn’t help but gape at him, torn between surprise and outrage. “Isn’t that what they call ‘passion’? You’re the kind of person whose feelings are too strong, and you get carried away with them.” He frowned suddenly, crossing his arms in a motion that seemed oddly defensive, eyes flickering off to the side as he mumbled in an almost inaudible tone, “That’s… not always unpleasant.”

Something in Yata’s chest seemed to give a little squeeze; for a brief moment, he couldn’t even breathe, starting at Fushimi with his face slowly growing hot and watching what he was _almost positive_ was an answering flush spread across those pale cheeks. “O-oh,” he managed, after a second or two of stunned silence. “Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

_He seriously just complimented me right now, right? I didn’t just imagine it?_

Fushimi clicked his tongue and let out a breath sharply, not responding.

The mood between them was starting to feel even more awkward than before. Despite his shock and the tiny bit of embarrassment he wasn’t sure what to do with, Yata couldn’t help but reach his breaking point again. He shifted, a bit nervously. “Hey. Uh. Can I tell you something kinda dumb?”

He got a wry glance for that. “If you couldn’t, you wouldn’t be able to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah – shut up, jerk.” Yata shot him a rueful grin, both relieved and a little disappointed that the atmosphere seemed to have returned to normal. “You wanna hear it or not?”

“Go ahead.”

It wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but Fushimi’s eyes were on him again, steady as ever, and that was enough to bolster his confidence. “It’s just… Mikoto-san was like my hero, but it was more than that, y’know? He gave me a place to belong.” Yata shrugged his shoulders just a bit. “I was used to feeling like I didn’t really fit anywhere. But with Homra, I did. And I didn’t even have to think, really – I just told myself that everything I wanted to do was for Mikoto-san’s sake, and let out all of my energy without even needing to consider things. It was a relaxed, easy kind of life.”

Fushimi made a small, derisive noise. “That sounds like a _pointless_ life, if you ask me.”

“Shut up.” Yata frowned at him, then sighed heavily. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but don’t say it like that.”

“If you say so.”

He ignored the flippant response. It was strangely freeing to talk about this with someone who had no stake in it, actually. “Anyway, I looked up to him – Mikoto-san, I mean. He was this colossal figure in my life.” Yata lowered his gaze, looking down at his hands for a moment and frowning hard. “After what happened… it was… It’s kinda hard to describe.” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. “There I was, looking down at someone who was the most stable thing in my whole world, and seeing him… broken down. Like a normal person with flaws, who could die at any time. It’s like the world stopped for a second.” He drew in a sharp breath, frustrated with how hard it was to find the right words. “I can’t really explain well.”

“It’s fine,” Fushimi mumbled back, and again, there was that little second of hesitation. “I understand it more than you think. Probably.”

The words were soft, but there was an edge to them that had Yata turning his head again, staring at Fushimi with surprise. “Huh?”

He got back a short huff and another frown. “Never mind.”

“Right.” There was probably no point in pushing with him. “Well. It… depressed me. I used to visit him all the time, just sitting there talking about the old days.” Now that he was looking back, this was kind of embarrassing. Yata managed a small, rueful smile. “It was so dumb.”

Fushimi didn’t contradict him. He hadn’t really expected that, though. “Anna didn’t visit that often, but she never gave up. She was always looking to the future, even then.” Her strength still surprised him. He wanted to protect her, but he couldn’t help but look up to her, too. “I guess… in a way, I was so stuck in the past, it was kind of like giving up. It took Anna’s inheritance struggle to snap me out of it. She needed us.”

He could still remember her face clearly when Kusanagi-san had been on the phone discussing her aunt’s will. Her hands had been folded in her lap and there was a tremor in her fingers, but her eyes were clear and looking straight ahead. He didn’t understand her connection to that person, who she hadn’t seen in years – but it was obvious the news of her death had an impact. Still…

_She always faces forward._

“Anyway.” Yata smiled again, drawing up the familiar determination from the memory. “That’s what made me realize, if I couldn’t go back and fix things with Mikoto-san, maybe I could still do something for Anna, even if it was just supporting her from the side.” He shifted his hands out of his lap and leaned back on his arms instead, turning his head to share his improved mood with Fushimi. “And now Mikoto-san’s awake. I know he can’t be with us right now, but I still think maybe one day I’ll be able to meet him again and try to be friends normally. Not pinning my whole life on him. Know what I mean?”

“Not really.” Fushimi frowned a little in return. “I’ve never had anyone like that in my life.”

“No heroes?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Heroes don’t exist. But you know that by now, right?”

“Nope.” Yata grinned back at that disgruntled expression. “I still believe in heroes. I’ve just changed how I think of ’em. They’re normal people like us, and sometimes they need saving too, that’s all.”

“That’s so simple.” Fushimi clicked his tongue, frown deepening. “If you put it like that, wouldn’t anyone who saved a hero also qualify as one? You’d end up with almost everyone being a hero in the end.”

“Sounds nice.” Yata snickered a little at the sour face he got back. “Come on, lighten up! It wouldn’t be so bad, right? Everyone being a hero…”

“It loses any meaning in that case,” Fushimi muttered, looking away almost petulantly.

“Nah.” Yata pushed himself back up off his hands, looking at Fushimi’s profile and feeling that tiny edge of a thrill run through his whole body. He felt amazingly light – and warm – after putting all of those feelings to words. “Isn’t it cool to think that you could be someone else’s hero some day?”

Something in Fushimi’s face seemed to shift; when he looked back at Yata, there was an odd expression on it. “Someone else, huh?” he murmured. “I wonder if that stupid thing counted…”

“What?” Yata straightened, watching Fushimi’s face expectantly. There was a certain amount of wary hesitation there. “Come on, you can tell me anything at this point, right? I just dumped my life story on you, so I’ll definitely listen to whatever you wanna get off your chest.”

“That’s true, I guess.” The corners of Fushmi’s mouth edged up. “You talk a lot.”

“Heh.” Yata grinned back. “You don’t talk enough, so we balance out.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it.” Fushimi let out a huff, sounding partially amused and partially resigned. “So? What do you expect me to say?”

_How you joined Scepter 4. Why you left Jungle. Why you were in there in the first place. What that ‘stupid thing’ was that made you make that expression just now._ All of those things flashed into Yata’s head immediately, but somehow, his instincts tugged him in a different direction. He moderated his grin back to a smile, met Fushimi’s cautious gaze without bothering to hide his own interest, and went with what felt like the natural answer.

“Anything you want.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Anything, huh?_

At this point, Fushimi wasn’t sure why Yata’s simplistic responses still caught him off guard. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been beaten over the head with examples so far – he should’ve caught the hint by this point. Somehow, that bright, stupid smile and the way those intent eyes glowed in the dim light put his nerves on edge, and he couldn’t seem to react rationally. The smallest, most single-minded statements felt like they struck right to his core.

_That’s pretty annoying._ Fushimi adjusted himself on the mat a little, conscious of the steady gaze on him. His leg was still throbbing dully, but he had to admit that Yata had tied it efficiently enough. It wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as it had before.

That was something, at least.

Yata was still staring at him expectantly, uncharacteristically quiet as he waited for some response. The shifting of his shoulders and the way his fingers twitched betrayed his impatience, but at least he seemed to be putting in an effort to let Fushimi respond at his own pace.

That was probably about as much as he could expect from this idiot, anyway.

Well, it didn’t matter in the end… In a way, having listened to Yata’s story made him feel like he wanted to say something in return, although he didn’t know how far he’d go with it. Homra’s past was interesting in the same way that a train wreck could catch your attention: one spectacularly awful event after another, in rapid succession. The more fascinating part had been Yata’s reaction to each piece of the story – his expressions, posture, and tone of voice spoke vividly of his emotions and how clearly he took everything to heart. It was hard to look away. The raw honesty and easy show of vulnerability were compelling enough that even Fushimi felt the draw of reciprocating in some way.

_“So yeah, you’re interesting.”_

And then there was that, too.

_Seriously, I’m as dumb as he is._ Fushimi sighed, turning his head so that Yata’s bright, open face was no longer in his line of vision, and quickly scanned his memory for an easy place to begin this tedious chore. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no special reason why I joined Jungle,” he began, keeping his voice dry. “Actually, I just needed a steady source of income, and they were convenient.”

No need to mention the circumstances. Fushimi had no intention or urge to relate the pathetic details of his wretched childhood to anyone.

There were times when he’d considered it before that man – whose relationship to him was still too much of an annoyance to qualify with a term like ‘father’ – had died, but his intent had been to hold out until he’d graduated middle school at least, and had no official ties in with the public education system (which was useless in almost every sense anyway). He wasn’t confident or particularly hopeful that it would mean a complete end to that person’s interference in his life, but not living in that house would’ve been a start.

Because of that, Fushimi Niki’s death should have been a release. He’d escaped, right? There was no way for that man to bother him any further. But somehow, there was nothing but a hollow dissatisfaction left behind. Staring blankly at the still body in the casket, Fushimi wouldn’t have been surprised or disappointed or pleased one way or another if that face had suddenly grinned at him and the whole thing were declared a cruel joke. There was no particular reaction within him at all.

_Even his miserable death can’t bring anything good to anyone, huh?_

Despite the fact that he had no ties to speak of with the woman who’d supposedly given birth to him, she’d seemed to think it inevitable that he would ride there and back with her, so they’d spent an uncomfortable length of time in the back seat together, silent and stiff. Pointless. He’d thought it then, and he still thought it now. And then she’d curled her lip and said, _“I suppose we’ll have to see about high school for you now.”_

The tone of her voice said it clearly: what a terrible nuisance.

_I don’t need it_ , had been his immediate thought, unvoiced. The first and only reaction of the day. He never considered it necessary to say to her. After turning his head and enduring the rest of the trip, he’d exited the car in front of that house, and gone inside to pack his things.

Two weeks of living from a savings account in internet cafés later, he had a place of his own.

Every now and then, he idly wondered at what point she’d realized that he had left.

_Maybe she just forgot she had a kid altogether._

Yata had been frowning at him with a kind of intent confusion while he examined that memory, as if working his way through a puzzle in his head. As the final thought passed through Fushimi’s mind, though, his expression suddenly cleared, and he offered a small, rueful smile. “I get that. You left home out of middle school, huh? Me too.” He let out a loud, commiserating sigh. “Man! I had no idea how hard it’d be to find places that hire kids at that age! It sucks, right?”

There it was again. Fushimi blinked at him, thrown off his own pace. He hadn’t been sure if Yata would put the pieces together and work out his age and circumstance, but he’d been prepared to scoff at any unwanted pity.

_And then he gives me this. “It sucks, right?” Are you serious?_ So simple. Fushimi could feel the helpless pull of a smile at the corners of his mouth and didn’t bother to fight against it. Something within him seemed to have eased, and he felt he could breathe more freely. “Don’t just assume we had the same troubles, idiot.”

The words came out lighter than expected, and Yata seemed to catch onto that, shooting him a vaguely exasperated look in response. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not like you’ve told me anything, so what d’you expect? Anyway, I get it – your family situation isn’t the part you want to talk about.” He frowned, eyes sharp for that one moment, and then abruptly softened. “But after that – moving out past middle school, joining a gang… We’re kinda similar, huh?”

Fushimi wasn’t sure how to react to that – he stared back for a second, disgruntled, and then clicked his tongue. “Not really,” he muttered, turning away from the earnest gaze and reaching up to adjust his glasses minutely. “You were actually satisfied with the one you joined.”

It wasn’t as if Jungle hadn’t been accepting. As far as he could tell, anyone who could tell one end of the keyboard from the other was welcome in Jungle – the weaker programmers would get caught eventually as they progressed to harder jobs, and the stronger ones gained more influence as they took advantage of their so-called comrades’ demise. The ones who knew their limits clung to the mid-ranks, taking on the grunt work and calling themselves clever, while all manner of others, from leeches to professionals to dangerous minds, kept themselves just carefully above the bar in the higher ranks, gaining advantage where they could. All the while, the inner circle of Jungle – the heart and the brain of the organization – lurked in the background, feeding off of the chaos and discord. It was a poisonous atmosphere, rotten to the vicious core, and though he knew the source now, he couldn’t find it within him to summon up much empathy for those who had knowingly created it.

“And you weren’t, huh?” Yata’s curious gaze was on him; he could feel it without looking. It was a little unnerving, but not unpleasant. “Is that why you left to join Scepter 4?”

He clicked his tongue again. “It wasn’t that simple. You should know as well as I do that you don’t just leave a gang – especially once you’ve wormed your way to the top rank.” Not that he’d taken it seriously at the time. “I was overconfident. I figured I could cover my tracks, keep my identity and location out of it and just make use of their system.” What a joke. He let out a humorless little chuckle. “Ridiculous, huh? A kid in a gang full of hackers, assuming he’s better than everyone. It was reckless.”

“Still, you got into the top rank.” When he glanced sideways, Yata had turned to sit cross-legged facing him, and was actually grinning, leaning towards Fushimi as if every word was worth hanging on. “That’s pretty cool, when you think about it.”

_What’s with that reaction?_ This idiot really was easily impressed.  Fushimi frowned. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Right, sure.” Yata brushed that aside, his eyes bright. “So? What happened?”

That look was doing strange things to his stomach again. Fushimi turned his eyes forward, trying to still the feeling. “I had a run-in with Scepter 4 on a job. The Captain…” He hesitated there, frown deepening as he tried to think of the best way to cover this.

It was complicated, but it also really wasn’t. He could sum it up clearly by saying that Munakata had offered him a job, and Scepter 4 had both better stability and more reliable income as an employer. But then that wouldn’t be the entire truth, even at the time when he’d actually believed it. He was stifling in Jungle, tossed from job to pointless job without any clear direction or goal. His worth was measured in rank and counted in successful escapades, but there was no meaning to any of it. It was the small, inconsequential existence of a miserable life form struggling to sustain itself alone.

And then the Captain had come, his every word and movement and thought calculated in the name of his own relentless march towards an impossible order in society.

An impossible order that seemed perfectly achievable under that calm, intelligent gaze.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, letting out a rueful sigh. “He’s annoyingly persistent when he wants something,” he muttered finally. “And he’s got this really frustrating habit of getting his way regardless of the circumstances.” He shut his eyes briefly, and thought of that outstretched hand, gentle but unwavering. It evoked an emotion in him that he still didn’t fully understand. “You end up following his will in the end, whether you mean to or not.”

_Whether it’s life or death that could be waiting for you after everything…_

“Huh.” When he looked up again, Yata seemed to be turning that one over in his head; he blinked when he noticed Fushimi looking at him, and then his face brightened up into a wide smile. “So then… what you’re trying to say is, you’re loyal to him, right? That guy’s the leader you should’ve had from the beginning.”

_Again…_ Fushimi stared at him, nonplussed. He couldn’t handle these careless conclusions. It felt like he was hitting bullseyes without a second thought. The casual attitude reminded him of Doumyouji, but there was a lack of that flighty whimsical nature. Even now, with that stupid grin, the look in Yata’s eyes indicated that he was completely serious.

_Why do you care that much?_ It was ridiculous, really. A complete waste of energy. Fushimi scowled, turning his gaze aside again and willing the fluttering in his chest to settle. “Scepter 4 isn’t a gang, idiot.”

“I-I know that!” Yata sputtered, defensively. “Anyway, that’s not the point!” He let out an agitated huff, shifting a bit with obvious impatience. “You’ve got more to say, right? What happened when you left Jungle?”

This was the part of the story that he really didn’t want to get into. Fushimi felt the little coil of dread churning in his stomach and scowled against it, clicking his tongue harshly. “There’s not much to tell,” he muttered. “They knew my identity, and they obviously had no issue with using my past against me. After I figured out what they were doing, it wasn’t an issue to get around it, but it was troublesome at first.”

Yata’s eyes were wide and intent. “They blackmailed you?”

Fushimi frowned at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you stupid or something? What do you think they’d be able to blackmail a middle school dropout with? Underage drinking?”

“How should I know? Middle schoolers can get up to bad shit too, can’t they?” Yata was scowling, but he still leaned in, his interest clear. “So what’d they do, then? Take one of your family members hostage?”

_Wouldn’t that have been ironic?_ Fushimi almost wished they had. “You watch too many movies.”’

Yata shot him a dirty look, bracing his hands on his knees deliberately. In his cross-legged position, it made his back hunch forward and his elbows stick up awkwardly. “Well, you’re not telling me anything, so what the hell else am I supposed to work with?”

He narrowed his eyes in return. “Why do you need to know? It’s not important.”

“You went out of your way to make it mysterious, so now I’m curious, goddamnit!” Yata shot back, lowering his elbows and straightening up. “And I’m interested in you, remember? How many times do I have to say it?”

The words set off that little ‘ping’ at the core of his chest; Fushimi swallowed, trying to drown it out. “You’ve only said it once.”

“Fine!” The hands still resting on Yata’s knees clenched into fists, a certain amount of determined energy behind the motion. “I’m interested in you, okay? I’m _fucking interested in you!_ ” He glared up stubbornly at Fushimi, lips twisting down. “How’s that? Enough?”

That was really just making matters worse; Fushimi was starting to get irritated with his own reactions. “You didn’t need to say it that much, idiot,” he muttered back, looking away. It didn’t really help much. He could still see that burning glare in his mind; the hard lines and soft contours of Yata’s face, multiplying the single ‘ping’ into something more like a frenzied attack.

It was ridiculous. How and why was this obnoxious idiot affecting him?

“You’re the one who bitched about it first!” Yata let out a sudden, sharp breath. “Look, you don’t have to go into detail if it’s hard for you. I get it, all right? Just – y’know – give me something. A summary. Please.”

The rough, unself-conscious appeal at the end was the final straw. Fushimi tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, giving himself a moment for the chaotic storm of emotions he couldn’t place to at least quiet to the point where he could keep it contained.

“They imitated someone from my past,” he said finally, keeping his tone flat and even. “It was a person who…” There, he paused, weighing his next words, and then made the decision to continue anyway, reasoning that Yata couldn’t give him unwanted pity after his own sob story from earlier, “had a lot of influence. Not in a good way.”

_That’s probably understating it._ But then, he wasn’t obligated to give Yata any details. Actually, he wasn’t obligated to give _anything_ , but somehow these things were being weaseled out of him anyway. He hadn’t even been this straightforward with Munakata or Awashima, never mind this loud-mouthed thug who stared at him with honest, passionate eyes and prodded at soft spots he hadn’t been aware that he had.

Well, that didn’t mean he had to explain everything. There was no way to effectively summarize a childhood of carefully avoiding attachment to anything due to the pendulum swing of impending doom such an attachment would create over whatever the thing happened to be. Five years after that man’s death, he still couldn’t get the gleeful sound of malicious laughter out of his head.

Waiting for the scars to fade completely was an exercise in futility. He was used to it.

He hadn’t been at age sixteen, though, receiving message after message with an uncomfortable level of detail and familiarity that hadn’t seemed possible. Funds would go missing from his bank account. Rent cheques mysteriously didn’t make it to their destination. And, inevitably, after he discovered a discrepancy and started taking the steps to correct it, he’d receive one of those texts. Or an email. Occasionally even a phone call, and the whispered voice would haunt his sleep.

For a while, he remembered giving up sleep as much as possible, holed up in his apartment and huddled over his laptop with energy drinks and calorie mate until his fingers shook and his vision blurred into an unrecognizable mash of dark-edged color.

It wasn’t even that he’d seriously thought Fushimi Niki was back from the dead. Logically, he’d known that wasn’t the case. Obviously, it was one – or more – of the hackers from the top ranks of Jungle ganging up on the potential turncoat in their midst. But he hadn’t been able to figure out where they were getting their information – how they’d known the intimate details of his past in a way that allowed them to imitate it so flawlessly. The possibility of a faked funeral had started to grow and fester in his brain more as he endured the abuse and the confusion.

In retrospect, failing to take his annoying cousin seriously when he’d already known about her interest in Jungle was a strategic error on his part. It was certainly an oversight that Jungle’s core had exploited easily enough.

“What’d they do?” Yata asked him, eyes intent.

“Nothing you wouldn’t expect.” That was partially accurate. He didn’t need to mention the specifics. “It was a harassment campaign – I guess you could say a psychological attack. I’m assuming the point was either to punish me for being recruited in the first place or force me to come back. Only the admins in Jungle can deactivate an account, so mine was still sitting there.”

“Not much of a gang if they have to resort to stuff like that!” Yata grinned at him, eyes fierce. “Did you give ‘em hell in the end?”

The smile was infectious; despite his mood, Fushimi let one corner of his mouth tip up in response. “You should know not everything works out so neatly like that in real life.”

Yata slumped back a little, looking disappointed. “Yeah, I know, but still…”

“Well” – Fushimi shrugged, letting the other corner lift to join the first – “I did give ‘em hell.”

For a second, Yata just blinked at him – and then his face split with a wide grin again. “Hell yeah!” he enthused, and shook his head, good-natured exasperation in his eyes. “You asshole – what the heck was that?”

“Nothing much.” Being able to get a reaction was satisfying enough to lift his mood. “Anyway, I didn’t do anything special. I didn’t even figure it out on my own.”

He still didn’t know how the Captain had known enough to hint at it, and he wasn’t willing to ask. Once he’d figured out who was harassing him, tracking and disabling her had been simple. He’d assumed the other top ranking members had thoroughly taken advantage of the opening he’d left on her account, but either way, once he’d cut ties with Jungle, he couldn’t have cared less what happened to Oogai Aya.

The fact that he hadn’t seen or heard from her since was telling.

“But you crushed ‘em after that, right?” Yata was leaning forward again, eyes alight with vicious excitement.

The attention wasn’t unwelcome. “More or less.” As an afterthought, Fushimi added, “Well, it was only one high-ranking member at that point. Obviously, Jungle wasn’t taken down until recently.” Those memories were still a bit raw. “You probably know about that, right?”

“Yeah, sorta,” Yata admitted, shrugging a bit. “Their leaders got arrested, right? Dunno much about it.” He seemed to do a double take then, eyes widening a bit as he stared at Fushimi. “Wait… was that…? Did you guys – ?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. _I shouldn’t have brought it up._ “Scepter 4 did the investigative work.” If you could call it that. The actual experience felt more like open warfare. “We were hired for it.”

Yata’s brow furrowed. “What, by the police?”

“No, a private client.” It probably would’ve been less of a trial if it had been the police. “A very annoying one, as it turned out – although I think the Captain agreed to it out of personal interest. Jungle interfered in a lot of our work already.” He clicked his tongue. “Anyway, it was an enormous headache – we were nearly branded a rogue organization by the authorities ourselves, thanks to Jungle’s counterattack.” He might as well just go ahead with it at this point – Yata was probably going to pester him until he answered anyway. “They fabricated charges against the Captain that basically amounted to offenses against the state.”

He got a blank look at that. “Huh?”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “It’s treason, pretty much. They can give you the death penalty for it.”

That had been the overlaying concern that nobody talked about during those days. Munakata had remained serene throughout – but he’d also grown more solitary as the trial progressed. Awashima’s concern had been palpable, even through her brisk professionalism. There had been times when her mask had slipped.

He hadn’t quite known how to react to it at the time. Scepter 4 had been a point of stability for him, and Munakata’s presence was an immovable centering force at the heart of it. Fushimi had resisted the revelation for a long while, but during that time, he’d gradually felt the looming swing of that pendulum hanging over something he valued, and it had been too late to try and reclaim his indifferent stance.

“Seriously?” Yata’s gaze had gone intent again. “So, what did you do?”

_I wonder what his reaction will be._ Fushimi eyed him right back, stating as flatly as possible, “I re-joined Jungle.”

“You…” Yata’s voice trailed off; he blinked twice, expression blank, and then abruptly leaned forward, eyes widening and face contorting with incredulity. “ _Hah!?_ Wait – but – why would you – ?” He stopped suddenly, eyebrows furrowing furiously as if he were struck by some intense thought – and then shut his mouth and frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. Wait. There’s a reason, right?” He nodded, expression clearing, and looked up with clear, stubborn certainty in his eyes. “There’s no way you’d go back there for real!”

The forceful, unexpected assertion took Fushimi aback; he stared back at Yata for a second, nonplussed, and then clicked his tongue, turning aside. “Talking so big…” Where would he even get that kind of confidence? “You’ve only known me a week, and this is the first time we’ve actually _talked_. What makes you think you’d know anything about me?”

“Look, I can figure some things out, okay?” Yata snapped back, sounding just a bit testy about it. “I’m not always a dumbass! Anyway, some of your habits are just dead obvious.” He paused to let out a breath, as if trying to rid himself of some agitation. “Even in just the time we’ve been talking, I’ve heard you downplay pretty much anything good you do, and make a really big deal out of the bad shit. You’re back with Scepter 4 now, so if you’d joined those bastards again for real, it would’ve been _pointless_ or _a waste of time_ and you’d have already said so.”

It wasn’t so much the truth of it that struck Fushimi as it was the very clear indication that Yata had been paying close enough attention to his actions and behavior to have noticed a pattern at all. He glanced over sharply, unable to help himself, and felt something clench in his chest as they locked eyes. Yata’s gaze was straightforward and unwavering, as if he had put everything into that conclusion and thrown aside any doubt of its truth. It was a little bit irritating in a way – no accounting for reasonable doubt, seriously? – but mostly it was just baffling. _Why do you care so much?_

Some of the people who’d worked closely with Fushimi for _years_ still wouldn’t be able to come to conclusions like that about him, and here was this loudmouth tossing it off like it was nothing. It was almost unbelievable.

Yata seemed to take his silence as confirmation, because his expression softened into a wry smile. “Not gonna admit it, huh?”

“Shut up,” Fushimi grumbled, torn between annoyance and something that felt suspiciously like gratification. He did his best to set those feelings aside, frowning. “It wasn’t my idea. The Captain is the one who likes to gamble, not me.”

Yata’s eyes narrowed a bit as he took that piece of information in. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous, though? He’d seriously order one of his guys to take a risk like that?”

“It wasn’t an order – it was a request.” Fushimi clicked his tongue, frown deepening in return. “Anyway, part of my job involves taking risks every day, on the computer or in the field.” He narrowed his eyes right back. “And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have been all over that kind of dangerous job if your leader brought it up.”

That apparently caught Yata off-guard; he stared back for a moment, seemingly speechless, and then grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, right, probably.”

_‘Probably’, he says…_ Fushimi felt his own face soften into a smile and let out a soft huff of breath, faintly amused.

“Anyway, you can’t just stop there!” Yata leaned in again, eagerly. “What’d you re-join Jungle for? To spy? Taking them down from the inside?” His grin turned fierce. “You beat the hell out of them, right?”

“Nothing as cool as that,” Fushimi responded drily, adjusting his glasses. “Jungle was too good at covering their tracks, so the Captain figured our best bet was someone on the inside to make them betray themselves. I was the only person who knew the system well enough and could believably switch sides. The details were up to me.”

It wasn’t particularly pleasant to think about. He hadn’t been under any delusion that his tampering would go undetected, and there was no escape plan that wouldn’t compromise his ability to gain access if he took the necessary steps ahead of time. Going into the base of that core group, he’d felt the pendulum swing above his own head, and instead of fear, his thought had been, ‘this is fine’.

It wouldn’t have been a wasteful death, at least.

“Right, so?” Yata was still watching him with bright, hungry eyes. “What happened?”

“About what you’d expect.” At least this part was simple to summarize. “I broadcast their data on the Internet, at which point the police took over and the Captain’s trial was declared compromised. The charges against him were dropped, and Jungle’s core members were arrested.”

“Serves ‘em right!” Yata grinned back again, viciously. “How’d you get out, though? You snuck away? Or your friends came to back you up?”

_Friends._ For once, Fushimi didn’t feel like making the clarification. “Neither. The Captain had a contingency plan he wasn’t able to tell me about. I didn’t see the rest of the team until after everything was over with.”

“I’ll bet they were all glad you were okay, right?”

The truth behind that statement still sent a little rush of confused anxiety through him, even now. He could see the relieved grins and exuberant greetings of his co-workers… Awashima’s eyes welling up just moments before she’d pulled him in for a sisterly hug and then immediately launched into a scolding… But, most of all, he remembered the first thing he’d seen when returning to Scepter 4: the fond smile on the Captain’s face when he held out his hand and said “welcome back”.

He was still getting used to it, but… these days, he mostly considered himself grateful for what he had.

Yata was still grinning at him in the dim light, his eyes seeming to shine, and a rush of something else entirely went through Fushimi, sending a little shiver across his skin. “Yeah,” he admitted finally, trying his best not to let his confusion show on his face. “More or less.”

“Thought so.” If anything, that smile widened even more, eyelids coming down into an expression that almost seemed… fond? It was probably just the poor lighting. “You said they were just co-workers and all, but you guys are actually pretty close, huh?”

At this point, Fushimi wasn’t even sure if he felt like denying it any more. He settled for a non-committal “hm”, wondering idly if it was weird that they continued to stare at each other as silence fell, the dull patter of rain against what was left of the school’s roof adding a soft background ambience. The feeling he got from looking at Yata was somewhere between uncomfortable and irresistible.

_Well, I’ll let him look away first._

Except that Yata didn’t look away at all. “So, uh,” he began instead, smile shrinking down to something small and a little bit awkward. “What kinda stuff d’you do for fun?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning back. “So the next step here is small talk, huh?”

“Yeah, whatever, shut up.” Yata let out a responding ‘ch’, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking kind of embarrassed. His gaze was steady and stubborn. “I wanna know more about you, okay?”

Another little ‘ping’ seemed to go off in Fushimi’s chest. He ignored it. “Well, it’ll pass the time,” he mused out loud instead, deliberately squashing the dry voice in his head reminding him that he had programs on his phone that would serve that purpose just as well. “Then… programming, maybe. Surfing the internet. Sometimes playing games, I guess.”

That seemed to perk Yata right up. “What kinda games?”

“Whatever seems interesting.” He wasn’t exactly a fanatic, but it could be a good way to blow off steam. “FPS and RPG. Strategy games.”

“Me too! It’s the best when there’s a good story to go with beating the hell out of everyone!” Yata grinned back at him again. “Hey, we should play together some time! I’ve been wanting to try co-op on Empire of Death for the longest time – I’ll bet we’d kick ass! How ‘bout it?”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never seen me play. Where do you get that impression from?”

“It’s just – ” Yata’s grin shifted to a frown, eyebrows coming together as he considered his words. “I have this feeling, y’know? We got a good – what’s the word? – oh, chemistry!” He brightened up again at that. “Betcha we’d work well together.”

_That’s not much of an explanation._ Fushimi clicked his tongue again, torn between irritation and an odd little spark of excitement. “We’ve been arguing since we met.”

“Yeah, well, we never actually talked until now, right?” Yata challenged. There was a stubborn set to his lips, and his eyes seemed to burn. “Y’know what? Let’s try it. Here.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket, and then pulled out his phone with a flourish. “I’ve got games on here. Let’s go!”

Fushimi stared at him. _Is he serious?_ “There’s no signal in here, remember? Any mutli-player games you have won’t work.”

“Yeah, I get that, okay? I’m not that dumb!” Yata shot him a mildly exasperated look. “I’ve got single-player games that are pretty cool!” He shifted in a little closer, squinting at his phone. “Let’s do some Apocalypse Bunker, come on!”

“How do you expect to play a single-player game with two people?” Fushimi asked drily, not moving.

“You said you like strategy, right?” Yata leaned in, tilting his phone so that Fushimi could see the screen. The title of the game was displayed in dark, bold letters, a grim wasteland image visible behind it. “So let’s make up the strategy together!”

It was a stupid idea. _Playing a single-player game together, seriously?_ This was the kind of thing he should’ve expected from an idiot. Those words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken, but when Fushimi looked up and met Yata’s expectant gaze, he found he didn’t really want to.

_His stupidity really is catching, huh?_

Well, it didn’t matter. Fushimi sighed, then adjusted his glasses. “What do we have to do?”

Yata’s answering smile was almost blinding.

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up stretching out on the mats, backs propped against the gym vault stowed behind them and with Yata leaning in to peer at the phone in Fushimi’s hands, pointing out the places he wanted to raid for food and supplies.

It was surprisingly engaging, and they hadn’t butted heads too much. Yata wanted to be bolder than Fushimi was comfortable with, taking risks to get rare items and supplies, which actually paid off more than he would’ve expected, despite the frequent losses. Fushimi was in favor of building up their bunker to be as secure and functional as possible, delegating their limited resources in the most efficient way.

The combination was somehow working out better than he’d expected; Yata’s gambles brought in higher quality supplies, which allowed Fushimi to expand his strategy in the home base and build more effectively. It was actually pretty satisfying.

“Told ya we’d be a great team,” Yata had pointed out smugly, somewhere around an hour in. Fushimi had nudged him in the side with his elbow, but hadn’t disagreed.

They’d been playing for – Fushimi discreetly checked his own phone, which he’d disabled the flashlight mode on earlier to save battery – nearly three hours. His eyes were starting to get tired; usually when he was sitting in the dark staring at a screen, it was his laptop, not a cell phone. He reached up under his glasses with one hand to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“We can sto – sto – ” A yawn interrupted Yata’s sentence. “ – stop if you’re tired.”

“I’m fine.” Despite his words, Fushimi paused the game, glancing at his temporary partner. “Speak for yourself.”

Yata waved a lazy hand at him. “Yeah, I’m good. Plenty of fighting spirit left!” He grinned back, eyes glinting in the darkness, and then blinked, seeming to think of something. “How’s your leg?”

Fushimi shrugged, lowering the phone. “It doesn’t hurt.” It actually did a little, but it was negligible. He’d fall asleep eventually. “I guess we can sleep here,” he mused, looking out across the stack of gym mats. He’d have to pull up his knees to fit, and it was getting a little chilly now with the sun having set quite a while ago, but it wouldn’t be the most uncomfortable place he’d spent the night.

_I probably won’t get much sleep, but that’s inevitable anyway._

“Yeah, that’ll work. Not like there’s anywhere else.” Yata shifted forward until he could flop back onto the mat, tucking his arms behind his head and stretching his legs in front of him. His feet still hung off the edge. “S’not that bad, c’mon.”

“I thought you had ‘plenty of fighting spirit’.” Despite his words, Fushimi shifted forward, lowering himself onto the mat. As expected, he had to bend his knees; rather than dealing with it, he shifted onto his side, careful to keep the wounded leg on top. The binding was still holding. Kind of amazing, really, considering it was made out of a cheap T-shirt.

The sudden, vivid mental image of Yata kneeling in front of him and pulling his shirt up over his head flashed to the front of Fushimi’s mind, and he resisted the urge to click his tongue, feeling something give a not-quite-unpleasant little shudder at the pit of his stomach. Yata’s bare chest had been surprisingly toned; with his diminutive size, slender build, and the loose clothing he always wore, he didn’t exactly give the impression of being muscular. The hard lines and wiry strength visible in those thin shoulders and narrow torso weren’t exactly what Fushimi had expected.

Not that he’d really been _expecting_ anything. It wasn’t like he thought much about what Yata looked like without a shirt on. The sight of all of that naked skin had taken him off-guard, somehow, and the unsettled, anxious stir he’d felt at the time was coming back to him now, just remembering it.

_What a pain…_

Regardless, his actions just now had left him facing Yata. Fushimi deliberately pushed the feeling – and the memories that had caused it – aside, setting the phone between them and leaving the game active. “Well, it’s fine if we stop here.”

Somehow, he was reluctant to put the phone in sleep mode and eliminate the only light source.

Yata turned his head, and then abruptly rolled over as well, keeping one arm up to pillow his head. Between them, their knees were nearly touching; Fushimi felt a little prickle along his skin at the unexpected close proximity.

“Hey.” Yata’s voice was subdued, but the lazy smile and the warmth in his eyes as he looked at Fushimi made it feel like it had more force. “Can I ask you some more stuff?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno – the usual, I guess.” Yata’s voice was light and careless. “What’s your family like?”

An icy shudder ran through Fushimi’s entire body, canceling out the comfortable warmth he’d been settling into. He made an effort to keep his breathing under control and to continue meeting Yata’s gaze, pushing back that instinctive edge of panic that told him to move – look away – shut this down.

It was in the past, after all. The past couldn’t hurt him.

All the same, that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who hasn’t talked about his own personal life yet.”

Yata blinked at him, looking startled – as if the idea of Fushimi being interested in him in return hadn’t occurred to him. “Huh. Okay. You didn’t ask, so…” He let that trail off, offering a sheepish grin. “Right, yeah. Sure.” His eyes seemed to have brightened even further. “What d’you wanna know?”

Fushimi felt a small, unwanted thread of guilt for bringing it up as a deflection rather than a sincere question. _He’s too honest._ The idea of hearing about Yata’s personal life wasn’t… exactly unappealing, though. He thought back to what Yata had said earlier – _“I wanna know more about you”_ – and had to reluctantly acknowledge that the words did resound against a similar feeling within himself.

_Probably because we’ve been stuck down here for too long._

Still, it didn’t really matter if he indulged himself right at the moment. He didn’t know what would happen once they were fished out of this sinkhole of a cellar, but for now, anything was probably fine. “Then… your family. I guess.”

“My family, huh?” Yata let out an explosive huff of breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. “That’s… Okay.” He opened them again, regarding Fushimi seriously. “Don’t laugh, all right? My family’s awesome, I love them, but I don’t really go home much. Not that I don’t want to see them, it’s just…” He frowned slightly, looking strangely hesitant. “Truth is, I’m only half-related.”

It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear, but it caught Fushimi’s attention. It was more about the way Yata said it than anything. _That’s a sore point, huh?_

“I mean, obviously I’m fully related to my mom! And, y’know, not related to my dad at all! It – it balances out, okay?” Yata reached up to scratch under his beanie, clearly flustered, and stared at Fushimi with a kind of half-embarrassed appeal. “I always kind of felt disconnected, like… here’s this whole family, perfectly related, and then… me. They didn’t – they didn’t need me there, really.” Even in the small amount of light, it was clear that his face was going red. “This sounds so dumb,” he muttered. “Anyway, I know they love me – my mom always calls – it’s not like I’m not _wanted_ , it’s just… I… ugh!” He heaved another sigh, letting his hand flop down. “Dunno how to explain.”

_That makes two of us._ Fushimi resisted the urge to click his tongue, torn between what felt like a pull from those expressive eyes and the instinctive urge to push back and withdraw into himself. He wasn’t used to having someone be so open with him. In one sense, it kind of made him uncomfortable – he didn’t know how to deal with it – but in another, it was gratifying. The strong drive to see more – to take in all of Yata’s honest and fervent emotions – was nearly as unsettling as not knowing how to react to them in the first place. He wasn’t sure where it came from.

Rather than do either of those – reach out or pull back – he settled for a mumbled response of, “It’s fine.”

Those lame words seemed to be enough for Yata, somehow; he smiled back, as if Fushimi had said something brilliant. “Yeah. It kinda is.” The smile shifted to a grin, almost too bright. “Anyway, now I have Homra to belong to, right?”

_“I was used to feeling like I didn’t really fit anywhere. But with Homra, I did.”_

Part of that raw confession from earlier flashed back through Fushimi’s head. It was like putting together a puzzle. Yata was an open book, simple to read and easy to understand, but he had fractured pieces all the same. It was both unnerving and satisfying to discover that.

_I want to see more…_

The thought was more than a little surprising. It felt like there was a blend of confusing desires warring for supremacy within him, and Fushimi wasn’t sure how to sort out what they all meant. He had the fleeting thought that, if he was another person, he might have reached out for Yata. Maybe he would’ve said something like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘you’re fine the way you are’. His palm was tingling with the imagined sensation of resting it on top of Yata’s hand, as a comfort or just to try and firm up a connection, he wasn’t sure.

His fingers twitched, and he curled them inward.

He wasn’t that person, after all.

“Well, that’s all! Not such a big deal, right?” The grin on Yata’s face had settled back to something easier and less tense. “Kinda feels good to get it out there! So, yeah…” His eyes were warm again when they met Fushimi’s. “Thanks! For listening and all.”

There it was again: that tiny ‘ping’ in his chest, like something striking against the inside. “I didn’t do anything,” Fushimi mumbled back, feeling oddly self-conscious – and vaguely irritated about it.

“What’re you talking about? You listened, right? Didn’t laugh or anything!” Yata beamed at him. “You’re the only person I’ve told this stuff to, anyway. Feels nice, y’know?”

“I guess.” He hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. Looking back… maybe it was the same for him.

_Just listening to someone can actually do that much, huh?_

 He was still processing that thought when Yata cleared his throat, abruptly drawing his attention back. “Anyway, I’m cool with returning the favor. Y’know, if you want.” He offered a small, sheepish smile. “Not like you have to or anything. I’m just saying… I’ll listen, all right? Whatever you wanna say.”

_You already did that, though._ Fushimi frowned back, some of that uncertainty still lingering. _But still…_

It helped, right? Talking about it. He shut his eyes, breathing in and observing the conflict within his own mind. He didn’t know how to deal with a situation like this. And he didn’t want anyone’s useless pity.

But then…

When he opened his eyes again, Yata was still staring at him, straightforward and serious, and somehow that conflict seemed to fade into a kind of distant hum.

_“Don’t laugh, all right?”_

Fushimi let his breath out sharply. “You asked about family, right?” It helped if he could keep his tone dry. “There’s not much to say. My family is full of nothing but useless people. I left as soon as possible.”

In front of him, Yata’s eyes narrowed a bit, as if he were considering that. “When you say ‘useless’, you mean… ?”

“Exactly what the dictionary says,” Fushimi finished for him, flatly. “It’s not the kind of home you’d be used to. Most of the time it was empty, anyway.” He deepened his frown, narrowing his own eyes. “Well, I preferred it that way.”

Yata stared at him in silence for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, clearly needing a moment to process. His gaze was direct and curious. “So… that’s why you left?”

A large part of the knot that had formed in Fushimi’s chest seemed to unravel with that reaction. “More or less.” It was suddenly easier to breathe, like the air had cleared with the lack of pity or derision. Mostly, Yata just looked confused, and that was… honestly fine. He could handle confusion. Fushimi felt just bold enough to risk a little more. “It got a little easier after that man died. _She_ didn’t care.”

“Huh…” Yata’s voice was soft and contemplative. “So that’s it…” It was clear from the crease in his forehead and the puzzled frown on his face that he didn’t really get it, but he was making an effort to understand what Fushimi had told him, just the same.

Somehow, just that was enough. A tiny, comfortable warmth spun to life within Fushimi, and he allowed himself a small smile, taking in the intense concentration on Yata’s face. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Shut up,” Yata muttered at him, expression clearing enough to shoot Fushimi a sharp frown. “It’s not like I don’t get it or anything.” Just as quickly, that frown shifted into a rueful smile. “Well, it helps when you tell me something straight up. Thanks for that.”

Fushimi blinked at him, taken aback, and then narrowed his eyes, frowning. “Why are you thanking me? Weren’t you the one who said you’d return the favor by listening?” He clicked his tongue, feeling vaguely embarrassed about it. “I should be the one thanking you, right?”

“Huh? Oh.” Yata looked surprised for a second, and then his face shifted into another huge grin. “Then you’re welcome!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, looking away. His cheeks felt warm. “I didn’t actually say it, idiot.”

“Heh!” That didn’t seem to have deterred Yata at all, if the light-hearted note in his voice was any indication. “Close enough.”

Silence fell between them again, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Unsurprisingly, Yata was the one to break it. “So? Anything else you wanna know?”

Fushimi looked up again to meet his eyes, caught the expectant look, and the sliver of an idea wormed its way into his head. He smiled slowly, lowering his eyelids a little. “What kind of stuff do you do for fun?”

For a moment, Yata stared back at him in perplexity, and then the echo of his own words from earlier seemed to register. He let out an irritated huff of breath. “Asshole.”

“You asked.”

“Yeah, I’m regretting it now.” There was the edge of a smile on Yata’s face all the same. “Jerk.”

“Idiot,” Fushimi returned promptly, without any real feeling.

Their eyes met, and Fushimi couldn’t help the grin that spread on his own face – a grin that was reciprocated right back from Yata’s.

_Something like this isn’t bad at all._

 

* * *

 

 

It was the morning light streaming in through the collapsed wall and the hole left by the broken cellar door that woke Yata. He had a moment of disoriented confusion – why was there light on his face, and how come his bed felt so stiff? – and then the events of the night before started to come back to him, and he jolted awake, opening his eyes abruptly.

His vision was blurry; Yata blinked slowly a few times to clear it. When it finally did clear, he sucked in a sharp breath, caught off-guard by the sight in front of him.

Fushimi was beside him, his head pillowed on his arm much like Yata’s was and his face slack with sleep. He’d removed his glasses at some point – Yata honestly couldn’t remember if it had been before he’d fallen asleep himself – and they were close enough that it was possible to see his eyelids flutter. His thin lips were parted and his breathing was even. In this state, he looked untroubled and unguarded.

It was doing some funny things to Yata’s stomach; he swallowed, feeling his face grow uncomfortably warm. _What? He’s sleeping – so what?_

But then, he’d seen a lot of different sides to Fushimi last night, hadn’t he? Some of that warmth spread down through his chest, and Yata couldn’t help but smile a little. It had been… actually kind of fun to talk to each other. Well, he wasn’t really sure how Fushimi felt about it, but he at least felt enormously refreshed that morning, despite being hungry and thirsty and kind of needing to piss. He felt like they’d come to an understanding, and even grown a lot closer.

_We’re pretty much friends now, right?_ He’d told Fushimi things that he hadn’t thought he’d tell anyone, and Fushimi had listened to him closely, even if he hadn’t said much. It was incredibly satisfying; Yata felt light just thinking about it. He also got the feeling that some of the things he’d been told in return – hell, maybe _most_ of the things – had also been stuff that no one else had heard before him.

That thought seemed to kick his heart into overdrive; he just felt… _happy_.

_Well, not a bad thing. He’s pretty cool, after all._

As he lay there watching Fushimi’s sleeping face, with his heart thundering in his chest, another thought occurred to Yata – something he’d been kind of turning over in his head last night towards the end, but hadn’t ended up bringing up.

Something he could – maybe – try out now, on his own.

Yata swallowed, licked his lips, and watched Fushimi’s face carefully. _He’s asleep, so no problem, right?_ He pulled in a breath, keeping his voice down as he murmured, experimentally, “Saruhiko.”

The name felt kind of weird coming out of mouth. It was crazy. Yata found himself grinning a little, hand fisting up on the ground in front of him. It felt like his whole body was buzzing with an excitement he couldn’t explain. Hell, he called a lot of people by their first names, but this was different. He wasn’t really sure how, but it definitely was.

“Saruhiko,” he repeated, with a little more volume and confidence – and then again, drawing the ‘r’ out experimentally to see how it felt, “ _Saruhiko_.”

He was about halfway through that last one when Fushimi’s eyes scrunched and then slid open slowly, regarding him with hazy confusion before the motion could even be processed. “What?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Yata’s skin prickled immediately in response; his breath caught and he nearly choked, sputtering with a mixture of shock and outrage. “Y-y-you… you were awake?” he managed to stammer out finally.

_Ah, shit…_

Fushimi was already fumbling for his glasses, squinting at Yata with vague irritation. “Hard to sleep when _someone_ keeps saying my name,” he muttered, rising up a little to slide the frames over his nose. “If you didn’t want me to wake up, why did you bother?”

_Damnit…_ Yata scowled, turning his gaze aside as he felt his face burn with embarrassment at being caught. He let out a soft ‘ch’ and then a long exhale. _Fuck it, might as well just go ahead then._ “N-nothing big. Just figured since – y’know – we’re friends now and all, maybe I could start using your first name. Or something.” He turned his eyes back towards Fushimi’s face, searching for a reaction of some sort.

For a moment, Fushimi just started at him, blinking slowly as the remains of sleep-induced fog seemed to clear from his head. “Ah,” he said after a beat or two, and then frowned a bit, that wary look settling over his face again. “Well, I don’t mind. Go ahead if you want.”

The last tiny bit of anxiety eased in Yata’s chest, and he could feel the huge grin spreading across his face before he’d consciously decided on it, spawned up out of mingled relief and elation. _He didn’t deny the ‘friend’ part either…_ “Yeah! Thanks!” After a brief second’s hesitation, he added, “Saruhiko.”

If anything, the little shiver of excitement was stronger with those cool eyes on him while he said it.

Fushimi’s – _Saruhiko’s_ – gaze seemed to lose a little of that guarded look, too. “It’s not that big a deal,” he murmured, slowly withdrawing his arm from under his head and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He winced a little as he shifted his legs.

Right – the injury. Yata pushed himself up quickly, ignoring the pins-and-needles feeling in the arm he’d pillowed his head on and leaning forward to eye the rough binding he’d thrown together the night before. “How’s your leg?”

“Fine.” The short response was about what he’d expected, but Fushimi’s tone wasn’t as clipped as before, which was probably a good sign.

He didn’t shift away or tense up when Yata moved to check the injury either, allowing him to unbind it without fuss. “Yeah, doesn’t look too bad – I mean, you still need to get it checked and all once we’re out, but I don’t think it’s infected, anyway.” He reached into his pocket for the remains of the T-shirt, beginning the process of rebinding.

Saruhiko let out a long breath – a weary-sounding sigh. “Thanks,” he said, sounding kind of awkward and stiff – as if he didn’t say it often. “Yata.”

It was his surname spoken in that voice that had Yata whipping his head up, hands freezing in the middle of what he was doing as he stared. Saruhiko met his gaze squarely, a tiny frown on his face, expression bland – but this was obviously a peace offering. Or – well – they were past the ‘peace offering’ stage, so more like… this was his way of showing his friendly intentions. Probably.

That was honestly what he’d wanted almost right from the start, and yet, now that he had it, Yata felt strangely dissatisfied. He felt his eyebrows knit together between his eyes as he thought about it. _Why? I hate that name, so I should be glad, right?_ Almost no one in his life called him by his first name – not even Kusanagi. Not even Totsuka. Only his family members and Anna.

His family members… that was just obvious. And you didn’t say no to Anna. Plus, with her, it was like… Well, it _felt_ like family, so he didn’t mind it. But it wasn’t like that with Saruhiko.

Still… somehow or another…

Yata let out an agitated breath, freeing a hand to scratch at the back of his head with a kind of anxious energy. _I still don’t really get it, but whatever!_ “You don’t have to… I mean, it’s fine.” He scowled a little to himself, turning his gaze back to the binding to cover his embarrassment. “What you were calling me before is okay.”

There was a brief, startled moment of silence; Yata returned to his work with renewed vigor, deliberately not looking back up. He could feel his cheeks growing warm, and mentally cursed himself. Then, finally, Saruhiko spoke. “Didn’t you say not to call you that?”

_Yeah, sure,_ now _you listen!_ Yata tied the strip of T-shirt material off, making an effort not to jerk it too sharply. “That was then, okay? This is different.” He gathered his determination and lifted his gaze, meeting Saruhiko’s eyes boldly. “If we’re gonna be on a first-name basis, you gotta be able to use mine too, right?”

For a second, Saruhiko just stared back at him – and then his head dipped forward, and Yata saw his mouth tip up into a smile as he let out a small huff of a laugh. “What’s up with that?”

It was hard to tell if he felt more indignation at being laughed at or fascination at the sight of Saruhiko actually _laughing_. Not in a mocking way, either. “It’s not that funny, c’mon.” Still, he couldn’t help the small, rueful grin that crept onto his own face. Abandoning the freshly rebound wound, he rose up on his knees and then turned to flop down to a seat beside Saruhiko again, letting out a sigh. “Y’know, you’re still kind of an asshole, Saruhiko.”

He got a raised eyebrow for that. “You’re still kind of an idiot. Misaki.”

_I’m gonna regret that one, aren’t I?_ Despite the thought, Yata couldn’t help but grin back fully. “Yeah, whatever.” He felt pretty good right then, shoulder to shoulder with the person he’d kind of – reluctantly – admired from the start. Saruhiko’s eyes were a startlingly piercing blue behind the lens of his glasses, and looking at them stirred up a little shiver in Yata’s belly that he couldn’t explain.

Honestly, this atmosphere felt kind of different, and he wasn’t sure about that either. The air between them was thick and heavy – not literally, but, well, a feeling. It was making him edgy, but there was a bit of an adrenaline rush to it as well. He didn’t know what to expect. Looking at Saruhiko’s pale, fine-boned face, something in his stomach clenched and his heart sped up. A little edge of what felt like anticipation seemed to be gradually climbing around everything else.

Anticipation of _what_ , he had no idea.

All he knew was that the striking blue of Saruhiko’s eyes felt like it was swallowing him whole, even as the lids started to come down low over them, the delicate details of those long lashes plainly visible. It was like those eyes were getting bigger as he looked, sending a surge of warmth through his body that was completely off from the cool color.

Maybe not so much bigger… maybe… closer…

“Yata-chan!”

“Fushimi!”

The sudden clamor of voices from outside of the bubble of… whatever that was… had Yata’s head jerking back automatically, startled out of that kind of daze he’d fallen into. Immediately, he felt a rush of cold, momentarily blanking out as he blinked at Saruhiko’s face. The expression he got back mirrored his confusion exactly.

_What…?_

“This certainly is a foreboding sight,” a grim, measured voice announced from somewhere outside of the cellar, and Yata’s attention was diverted to the open space above them.

Saruhiko sucked in a sharp breath even as he did. “Captain?” he queried, his tone just a bit incredulous.

“Fushimi-kun?” There was the sound of brisk footsteps, and then Munakata himself appeared at the entrance to the cellar, morning light gleaming from his glasses. “Ah.” He let out what sounded like a slow exhale, with a clear undertone of relief. “You both appear to be unharmed.”

“Misaki!” Anna’s voice was strong and desperate; when she appeared beside Munakata, her expression was stricken. She immediately dropped to her knees, bracing her hands at the edge of the opening as she peered down at them. “Saruhiko!”

A sudden and sharp rush of guilt ran through Yata’s body; he clenched his hands into fists without thinking. _I made her worry._ He forced himself to try and relax, keeping his voice light as he called back up to her. “Don’t worry about me, Anna! I’m made of strong stuff, remember?” He was able to manage a fierce grin with those words, and then shifted it to a frown. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be in here – it’s not safe.”

Even from the distance, he could see her lip tremble; she looked ready to protest, but was interrupted when Kusanagi joined her, setting a gentle hand down on her shoulder. “Yata’s right, Anna,” he said, tilting his head a little to offer a rueful smile down at the two of them. “Come on, let’s get you out of here so we can get a ladder down to them.”

The blonde woman – Awashima, Yata remembered – took their place as Anna was led away. “Are either of you two injured?” she called down, brisk and cool.

“We’re fine, Lieutenant,” Saruhiko reported back immediately.

Yata shot him a slightly exasperated look. “Saruhiko hurt his leg,” he added, and turned his head to meet the irritated glare that came his way challengingly. “He’s gonna need to get it looked at.”

He got a sharp ‘tsk’ and a frown for his trouble. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Shut up! It obviously was if you’re just gonna ignore it, dumbass.”

“Is everything under control down there, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata asked in a calm, pleasant-toned voice. When Yata glanced up at him, startled, he found himself the subject of a keen, interested gaze.

It was kind of unnerving.

“There’s no problem, Captain,” Saruhiko responded evenly.

“I’m very pleased to hear it.” Munakata smiled in return, somehow managing to look both completely innocent and unquestionably devious. He turned slightly. “Awashima-kun, if you would be so kind as to find something we can lower to them to end this unfortunate predicament?”

 “Yes, sir!” She straightened, and then turned to leave abruptly.

“Now, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata’s gaze turned back to the cellar again. He reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose, causing that glint from the sun to catch and flash blindingly. “Perhaps you could enlighten me with the details of how your current circumstance came to be.”

There was no reprimand in either the words or the tone – and he wasn’t even the focus of that gaze – but somehow, Yata felt like he was being scolded.

Beside him, Saruhiko sighed; when he spoke, his voice was a mix of resignation and weariness. “Yes, Captain.”


	6. Chapter 6

Yata made a point of going up the ladder second so that he could wait at the bottom in case Saruhiko’s injury gave him trouble, but as it turned out, the only sign he showed of having any difficulty at all was the little grimace when his feet planted on solid ground again.

“Is that wound causing you some discomfort, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata asked, as Yata began to climb up the ladder; when he looked up, Scepter 4’s leader had braced a steadying hand on Saruhiko’s shoulder.

It earned him a frown and a click of Saruhiko’s tongue, which Yata couldn’t help grinning to himself about – _Seriously, that guy’s just difficult with everyone, huh?_ – followed by a grumble of, “It’s nothing.”

Munakata seemed undeterred by this – used to it, probably. “Nonetheless, I believe we should have it looked at as Yata-kun suggested.” _Hah! See?_ “I will take it upon myself to accompany you as your support.”

“You don’t need to.”

“ _Someone_ needs to, or you won’t go, will you?” Yata tugged himself deftly up onto the floor again, returning the irritated look he got stubbornly. “I’ll come along, too!”

“That won’t be necessary,” Munakata responded calmly, turning to regard Yata with that cool, assessing gaze. “I would strongly recommend that you return home and get proper rest yourself, Yata-kun.”

He couldn’t help but bristle a little at that. “But – !”

“Yata-chan.” Kusanagi set a hand on his shoulder, a little hint of a reprimand in his voice. “He’s right. Don’t push yourself.”

“I’m totally fine, though, just – ”

“Misaki,” Anna’s small voice interrupted. When he looked over, she was regarding him seriously from beyond the collapsed wall, traces of worry still evident on her face. “Please.”

The remaining fight drained out of him completely at that; Yata slumped, shutting his eyes and letting out a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Got it. Sorry, Anna.”

There was a brief moment of somewhat awkward silence.

“By the way,” Saruhiko broke it. When Yata looked at him, his attention was on his superiors, expression guarded. “How exactly did you figure out where we were?”

“We had Enomoto trace the last signal sent from your cell phone,” Awashima responded, crossing her arms under her chest. “Once this location was identified, we determined that it would be a good starting point.”

_Eh… okay, what?_ Yata glanced at Saruhiko, and found him nodding, as if this explanation made perfect sense. “Well, I figured it’d be something like that,” he commented, and frowned a bit. “Why were you looking for us in the first place?”

“Ah – that’d be my fault,” Kusanagi interjected, with a bit of a rueful grin around the cigarette in his mouth. “Anna had a bad feeling, so she asked me to call Yata.” He met Yata’s gaze with a bit of a shrug. “Normally you’re pretty good about answering, so I thought something might be up when I didn’t get a response after a few tries. That’s when I contacted Seri-chan and started all of this.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue. “What made you think we’d be together?”

“Hm.” Munakata smiled back at him in response to that, clearly unbothered. “Call it intuition, if you will.”

The look Saruhiko shot him in return was vaguely suspicious, but he didn’t say anything in response.

_I don’t really get it, but whatever._ Yata scratched at the back of his head, frowning a bit as he let his attention wander.

Now that he was out and could see the mess that the collapsed wall had made, he was glad he’d left his skateboard at Homra – his bat was definitely lost somewhere in that pile. Or maybe even down in the cellar; he hadn’t actually thought to look for it before now. It wasn’t like it was important at this point. He definitely had to consider himself lucky that Saruhiko had been able to react so fast the night before, though. If he’d been trapped under that, waiting for a rescue would’ve been hell.

_I really owe him one, huh?_ Tying a T-shirt around his leg wasn’t going to cut it as a return.

“If I may,” Munakata continued, still in that even, measured tone, “I would like to propose an amendment to today’s challenge.” His gaze slid from Saruhiko to Yata, confirming that he had their full attention before going on. “Neither contestant shall attempt to access the challenge board prior to five in the afternoon.”

“ _Hah?_ ” Yata stared at him incredulously. “What the hell?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue at almost the same moment, his expression turning sour. “Is that necessary?”

“Not a bad idea,” Kusanagi commented, as if they hadn’t spoken. He glanced between the two of them wryly. “Take a break for today, boys.”

“Awashima-kun,” Munakata went on, smoothly, “please do make a note of this.” He pushed up his glasses again, delicately. “Be sure to include the caveat that any attempt to circumvent the rules will result in disqualification from the current challenge.”

“Of course, Captain,” Awashima agreed, without hesitation.

Yata shot them both a disgruntled look, and then turned to Saruhiko again. “Hey… Can he seriously do that?”

Saruhiko’s expression was one of weary resignation. “You get used to it,” he muttered. “Somehow or another.”

“Man, seriously…” Yata reached up to rub at the back of his neck, heaving a frustrated sigh, and then let it go. He managed to summon up the beginning of a grin as he looked back up at Saruhiko again. “Whatever – I can still kick your ass after five.”

The corners of Saruhiko’s mouth turned up very slightly in response. “Enjoy that delusion while you can.”

The exchange was pretty typical, but somehow even when Yata was trudging after Kusanagi with Anna’s small hand clutched around his and Saruhiko heading in the opposite direction with his superiors, he found himself unable to wipe the smile from his face or clear the excitement trembling in his belly.

With the way they’d looked at each other, he got the crazy impression that it was more of a promise than anything.

 

* * *

 

 

As predicted, the injury to Fushimi’s leg wasn’t serious – he’d had it cleaned and bandaged properly, and then been dropped off at home to get some rest.

Awashima, who’d been doing the driving, had been adamant that he was not to show up at work that day, even for the few hours he’d been planning in order to wrap up the case he was working on. Munakata had smiled beatifically from the passenger seat, not offering any contradiction.

“It’s not like I need my leg to hack somebody’s system,” Fushimi had muttered in response. It had not earned him any sympathy or a sign of relent from either of his superiors. Awashima had actually let out what sounded like an exasperated sigh in return.

_This is ridiculous, and you both know it._ He’d at least been wise enough to keep that thought to himself.

“Rest well,” Munakata had told him pleasantly as he was getting out of the car in front of his apartment building, and that was that.

He’d already slept in the cellar, so he didn’t bother going to bed. It hadn’t been a _good_ sleep, but he was used to that. Sleeping during the day left him groggy anyway, so he wasn’t interested in going down for more. Instead, after bathing away the grime from the incident, Fushimi opened his laptop, plugged his phone in to charge it, and spent a brief moment contemplating whether to open one of his side projects, check on some of the forums he lurked at, or fire up a video game.

The hesitation only lasted a second or two, and then he started up the download for Apocalypse Bunker on his phone and opened the copy of Empire of Death that he’d so far only put three or four hours into on his laptop.

Well. It was a way to pass the time, anyway.

It was nearly four when he left his apartment, and his injury was throbbing, but he could walk normally, which was good enough. Having a break had actually helped – not that he’d admit it to his superiors – and he felt refreshed enough to take the bus, firing up the newly installed Apocalypse Bunker on his phone to keep himself occupied.

The buses were on time. Fushimi found himself already walking up to the Homra Coffee House at twenty to five. After a brief moment of hesitation, he stopped and went inside.

It couldn’t hurt to have a coffee. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, after all.

There was a blond he didn’t recognize working at the counter, and no sign of any other employee. Fushimi pushed down the odd rush of disappointment, ordered and paid for his drink, and left without lingering.

_It’s not like I thought he’d be there._ Homra closed at five, much like every other business in this quiet sector. The streets were already starting to clear out, in fact.

Well, it wasn’t like they wouldn’t see each other soon. He frowned to himself a bit, pushing that feeling down again, and continued past the building, being careful to avoid going much further in case it would count as breaking the Captain’s whimsically instated rule. Leaning back against the wall of a clothing store that had already closed, he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it to continue where he’d left off with his new game.

He’d been trying to execute some of the more daring supply runs Misaki had pulled off on their shared run, but it hadn’t worked well for him so far. That unreasonably vague ‘good feeling’ that Misaki had casually tossed off as the reasoning behind his choices apparently had something to it, after all.

_He probably doesn’t even know how he’s doing it._ Despite the annoyance, Fushimi couldn’t help but smile a little to himself at that. It was probably a mix of instinct and a subconscious picking up of hints that he hadn’t figured out yet.

Either way, it would be more satisfying to play the game together.

He’d just managed to finish off his drink when the telltale grind of wheels on pavement alerted him to the fact that he was about to have company. Fushimi pushed himself up from the wall, dropping the empty to-go cup in the garbage opposite him and turning to face Misaki. “Hey.”

The skateboard was kicked up and lifted from the ground in an effortlessly skilled maneuver. “Hey,” Misaki answered him, an unguarded smile on his face as he met Fushimi’s gaze. “How long’ve you been here?”

“Not that long.” There it was again – that unusual little twist in his stomach. It had gotten much worse since last night, apparently. Fushimi deliberately ignored the feeling. “I was told not to come in to work, so there wasn’t much else to do today.”

“Oh, right – ‘cause of your leg, huh?” Misaki’s gaze drifted downward. “How’s that doing?”

“It’s fine.” It was only likely to give him trouble for another day or so, assuming he didn’t push things. Fushimi turned his eyes on his phone. “More importantly, it’s nearly five.” He locked the device and tucked it into his pocket. “Let’s go get this over with.”

Misaki actually huffed out a short laugh at that. “Real into this, huh?” His eyes were bright when he met Fushimi’s gaze again. “Yeah, okay, let’s do it!”

The short walk to the challenge board was spent in comfortable silence. When Fushimi glanced in Misaki’s direction, just once, he found Misaki eyeing him in return, and the sheepish grin he got for that was infectious. He still didn’t know what to do with the feelings it invoked, but he didn’t really dislike this kind of atmosphere.

The mood lasted right up until they got to the challenge board and read the latest post: ‘Treat someone to ice-cream’.

_At five on a Sunday?_ Any place around here would be closing – if they hadn’t already. Fushimi glanced up sharply, scanning the street. He thought he remembered … There. Just across the street from them was the place he’d seen without paying much mind to it: the oddly-named Hakumaitou Ice-Cream Parlor.

… with its dark-haired server standing beside the open door, flipping the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.

He apparently wasn’t the only one who’d spotted that; the two of them exchanged a quick, alarmed glance, and then Misaki was charging across the street without even bothering to look for cars – not that there was much traffic at this hour – bellowing out an urgent, “WAIT!”

_Seriously…_ Fushimi clicked his tongue and moved to follow.

The server had stiffened up at the initial outburst, and was now staring at them apprehensively as they ran up. Misaki waved frantically at him, probably looking kind of like a deranged thug – Fushimi wouldn’t be surprised if the guy assumed they were on drugs or something.

_That’s almost a less embarrassing explanation than the real one…_

“Don’t close yet!” Misaki called out, running past the artfully arranged outdoor tables in front of the place. He stabbed a finger into the air behind him without looking back. “I need to treat this guy to an ice-cream!” As Fushimi approached, he seemed to consider that for a brief second and narrowed his eyes. “No, wait, _two_ ice-creams!”

_How annoying._ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Then, I’ll treat him” – at that, he tipped his head in Misaki’s direction – “to three ice-creams.”

“Oh yeah?” Misaki turned to glare back at him. “Make that _four_!”

“Five,” Fushimi countered, scowling back.

“Look, asshole, I can do this forev – ”

“Pardon me,” the server cut that off, sharply. When they looked in his direction, he was fixing the both of them with a level stare. “I’m afraid we’re past our closing time. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Eh?” Misaki’s expression was a mix between outraged and dismayed. “C’mon, you gotta be kidding me! Where the hell else are we supposed to go?”

_As if he cares._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, reaching into his pocket with the intent of pulling out his phone to track down another place with ice-cream. Unlike this quiet area, the busier sections of the city would definitely have shops open 24/7.

It was going to be crowded and it would take a while to get there, though, which was a pain.

“It’s fine, Kuroh!” a light voice called out from inside the shop, startling Fushimi out of that thought. When he looked inside, a silver-haired man was leaning over the old-fashioned counter to offer him a pleasant, carefree smile. “I haven’t cashed out yet, so we can handle two more customers.”

The server – Kuroh, evidently – frowned back at the other man for a beat, and then heaved what sounded like a resigned sigh, turning back to face the two of them. “Fine,” he agreed, and fixed them with a severe look. “But only _one_ order each – understood?”

_Is that the best way to talk to customers?_ Still, this was better than taking a subway into the city and having to deal with the crowds. Fushimi bit back the comment, settling for clicking his tongue again. “Got it.”

Misaki seemed about as pleased as he was, letting out a soft ‘ch’ and scowling back. “Yeah, yeah.” He stepped forward into the shop ahead of Fushimi, his expression softening a bit when he took in the still-smiling man behind the counter. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it!” the server – or maybe he was actually a manager, since the other server seemed to have accepted his suggestion without complaint, despite obviously disapproving of it – responded cheerfully. “Now, what can I get you?”

They left the shop five minutes later, with the dark-haired server promptly shutting and locking the door behind them. In the interest of not being kicked out – and because it was pointless to argue over it – they’d called a temporary truce and gone with a single scoop each, Fushimi’s mild vanilla in a cup and Misaki’s chocolate peanut-butter swirl in a cone.

“You’re a picky guy, huh?” Misaki commented around a mouthful of ice-cream. A thin line had already smeared just under his bottom lip, but he didn’t seem to care, shooting Fushimi a flat look. “Seriously, only kids still get ice-cream in cups. And _mild_ vanilla, for real? Regular vanilla isn’t boring enough?”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow in return, dipping his spoon into his portion. “Says the guy who ordered one of the flavors with the cartoon bears on the label. Who’s the kid here?”

“Shut up – who cares about the label?” Misaki’s sharp retort was spoiled by his grin. His eyes were bright, and the color in the sunlight was a brilliant amber, unlike the hazel Fushimi remembered from the night before. Even then, they’d seemed to shine, but now… He couldn’t properly qualify it, other than to say that both felt very much like his impression of _Misaki_ , in general. “Anyway, c’mon, let’s sit down while we eat.”

The tables outside of the shop were small and round with glass tops, and there were two black-framed chairs at each one. Misaki pulled one chair out and flopped onto it carelessly, leaving Fushimi to take the other. “Way better! You gotta relax when eating ice-cream, right? Oh – ” He frowned at his hand, noting the line of melted chocolate dairy product that had stealthily slid over the cone and down along the line of his thumb. “Damnit, it’s melting already…”

“That’s what happens when you use a cone instead of a cup,” Fushimi pointed out, delicately sliding his spoon along the edges of the scooped ice-cream to catch the melted parts.

“Yeah, yeah.” Misaki shook his head, shrugging that comment off. “It kinda ruins the mood, though. Wouldn’t feel like ice-cream without a cone.” He abruptly brought his hand up, lowering his face and licking up the line of melted product.

Fushimi had meant to respond to that inane observation with something about how the taste didn’t change regardless of how you ate it, but his eyes caught on the motion of Misaki’s tongue running deftly along his skin, and the distraction effectively pushed the words out of his mind. There was a pleasant, shivery appeal to the sight that curled within him, a little ache that felt like longing pulsing at the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Misaki’s bottom lip still had that small smear of ice-cream trapped in the curve beneath it, visible as he pulled back, and Fushimi’s fingers suddenly seemed to itch with the desire to reach out and wipe it off. He wanted to know how it would feel, that tiny bit of soft flesh giving under his touch. And what kind of look would Misaki give him if he did it?

The urge to find out was so strong it made him feel briefly disoriented.

“Saruhiko?” When he snapped his gaze up, startled, Misaki was giving him a puzzled look. “What’s up? You spaced out for a second there.”

An uncomfortable warmth rose on Fushimi’s face; he clicked his tongue and turned to look down at his nearly-untouched and noticeably melting ice-cream, flustered and more than a little irritated. “You have food all over your face,” he muttered.

It was hard to say what was more annoying: the weird thought or the fact that he’d been caught staring.

“Huh? So what?” There was a pugnacious note in Misaki’s voice, despite the careless tone. “It’s just ice-cream.” It was almost possible to _hear_ the grin when he added, “That’s part of the fun, right?”

The untroubled response soothed a little of his embarrassment. Fushimi looked up to raise an eyebrow, the usual pleasant rush washing over him at the sight of that stupid smile. “What, making a mess?”

“Yeah, that! S’not the same if your fingers don’t get all sticky.” Misaki leaned in to lick another line off the back of his hand.

Fushimi turned his eyes back to his own ice-cream, pressing the spoon into it firmly and ignoring the faint tingling in his stomach. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but it was awkward and part of him felt vaguely guilty for no reason at all, which made this kind of irritating to deal with. He didn’t want to have another moment like earlier, either. “I’ll pass.”

“Heh. You’re no fun.” Misaki sounded amused – kind of annoying, really, but it couldn’t be helped. “Go ahead and eat your boring cup of _mild_ vanilla.” He snorted. “Might as well be frozen milk like that.”

“That’s definitely something a kid would say,” Fushimi drawled in response, raising his spoon to take a bite and lifting his eyes to catch the reaction to his words. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that milk helps you grow?”

Misaki’s smile shifted to a scowl. “Shut up! That’s just something you tell kids to make ‘em drink it!” The beginning of a flush was spreading out from the bridge of his nose; he glared across the table. “Anyway, what the hell are you getting at? Got something to say about me?”

_Too easy._ “Nothing really.” Fushimi smiled lazily back, his good mood restored, and scooped another spoonful of ice-cream.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” Misaki frowned at him for another minute or so, eyes narrowed, and then slouched back in his seat, heaving a sigh. “Man, another tie today! This kinda sucks, y’know? I was all fired up and everything…”

“You’re always fired up,” Fushimi noted drily. “Why not consider this a chance to cool it for once? You can save your energy for the next one.”

He got a flat scowl for that. “Yeah, says the guy winning right now.” Misaki let out a soft, irritated ‘ch’, bringing up his considerably softened ice-cream to work at with furious enthusiasm. “Don’t think you can relax just because you’re ahead by _one!_ ”

That brought another smile around his next mouthful. “If you say so.”

When their eyes met, Misaki paused long enough to grin back fiercely, and it felt like there was an electric current passing between them. For once, the pleasant little shivering sensation didn’t feel out of place or strange; it was both expected and welcome, as if it was something they shared.

There was a surprising amount of appeal to that idea. _Mutual_ good feelings.

Despite the tiny thread of doubt that still lingered – as always – at the back of his mind, Fushimi had to admit that he liked the thought of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Something about the way Saruhiko smiled was kinda fascinating, Yata thought. It was cautious but also a little bit of a helpless gesture, like he just couldn’t keep it in. He was such an aloof, secretive person that the tiny signs of happiness were like rare and precious gems. The sight of them made Yata feel as if his whole body would tremble; the thrill sank all the way down to his bones, filling him completely.

He couldn’t help but grin back. Some of that feeling had to come out, after all.

The moment lasted maybe just a second or two longer than it needed to; feeling inexplicably nervous, Yata cleared his throat. “So, uh…” For a moment, he fumbled for something to say – _Why the hell is this getting weird all of a sudden?_ – and then something from the previous night back to him and he let out a relived breath, reaching into his pocket. “Right. I kept our game. Y’know, from last night? Apocalypse – ”

“ – Bunker. I know.” Saruhiko was still gazing at him steady as he stirred at his ice-cream in a lazy, almost idle motion. It was melting just like Yata’s, but instead of getting all over his hand, it was turning into a kind of soupy paste in its cup. “I downloaded it.”

“Oh.” Yata hesitated, frowning a bit with his hand hovering just out of his pocket, phone clenched in his fingers. He wasn’t sure whether he was more gratified – after all, Saruhiko had liked the game enough to download it – or disappointed – this meant they probably wouldn’t need to play together, after all. “Yeah, okay.”

Saruhiko’s gaze flickered down to his cup; he scooped up a spoonful of ice-cream soup deftly and then paused before bringing it to his lips. “It’s a pain to deal with the supply missions,” he commented flatly. “You can keep handling that part.” The spoon made it to his mouth at that point.

For a moment, Yata just blinked at him, trying to piece together the strangeness, and then it clicked. _He wants to play together, right?_ The realization sparked a little flare in the pit of his stomach, a smile spreading wide and uncontrolled on his face as he brought up his cell phone. “Yeah! Leave it to me! But first…” With his confidence renewed, he felt bold enough to go a little further, unlocking the device and bringing up his contacts before holding it out. “Here. Put your number in.”

That earned him a startled look, much like he remembered from a few points during their conversation in the school cellar. Yata kind of liked seeing that look. It lifted the guarded wariness that Saruhiko seemed to carry with him unconsciously. Still, it only lasted a second, and then the little frown was back. “What for?”

“What d’you mean ‘what for?’” Yata frowned back. _Uphill struggles all the time with this guy, huh?_ “We’re friends, right? Why shouldn’t we have each other’s contact info?” He waved the phone a bit, stubbornly. “Anyway, for stuff like this, challenges and all, we could help each other out. Y’know?”

For a second, it seemed like Saruhiko was going to turn him down – Yata couldn’t help but start to feel a little bit self-conscious about it, sitting there holding his hand out like that – but then, after that brief bit of hesitation, he reached out and took the device. “I guess.”

The breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding emptied out of Yata in a rush. He felt the smile building on his face even as he watched those deft fingers tap at his phone, and the mingled relief and happiness just made it spread wider. “Right?”

“Here.” Saruhiko turned the phone around, holding it between his thumb and index finger so the newly entered information was visible. “This is good enough, right?”

“Yeah!” Yata reached out and took his phone back, feeling that little rush of excitement as he stared at the line of numbers. It probably wasn’t that big a deal, but whatever. He was happy about it. “Here, I’ll send you a text so you’ll have mine too.”

Saruhiko shrugged. The motion caught Yata’s eye and he glanced up, their gazes locking and another little jolt seeming to pass between them. “Sure.”

It was kinda hard to focus after _that_ , but he eventually managed.

Once the text was sent and contacts were sorted, Yata pulled up Apocalypse Bunker on his phone, setting it down on the table between them. He was just getting the game to load, in between bites of the dwindled ice cream in his cone, when an unwelcome voice interrupted. “My, my. This is an unexpected sight.”

Yata’s head shot up, even as Saruhiko clicked his tongue. “What are you doing here, Captain?”

He barely registered Munakata’s amused answering smile from where he was standing on the other side of the fence that separated their table from the rest of the sidewalk, because half a second later he caught sight of the man beside him, and jolted halfway out of his seat in shock. “M-Mikoto-san!”

That slow, hauntingly familiar smirk spread on the face from his past, broken by the lit cigarette jutting out from the lips that formed it. “Yo, Yata.” Same voice, too – it had a lump lodging itself right in Yata’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Doing well?”

“I – ” It was hard to talk, too. He swallowed hard, shaking his head to clear it, and tried to get himself under control. When he looked up again, he thought… Mikoto’s face looked different, somehow. Not just because of the shadows from the hat he was wearing to cover his distinctly-colored hair, but a deeper change. Less tired, maybe. Less worried? It was hard to say, but something tight in Yata’s chest eased a little, and he managed a small smile. “I’m… good.” Even as he said it, he felt the truth of his own words. It was a little surprising, somehow. _I really am. Everyone is. Homra is._ A split second later, he added, earnestly, “But – Mikoto-san – are you doing okay?”

“Yeah.” Something in Mikoto’s smile softened out a bit. He turned his gaze on the man beside him, slow and lazy. “Somehow.”

“I see.” It was like that honest response took the rest of his anxious tension with it. Yata realized he was still kind of hovering over his seat and let himself sink back down, feeling suddenly relieved and a bit drained by the spike of adrenaline the encounter had brought on. “That’s good, then – I mean, great! Right?”

A soft ‘tsk’ from across the table was his immediate answer. “I think we get it,” Saruhiko mumbled. When Yata glanced over at him, startled, he’d fixed his attention on his ice-cream again, scraping around the side of his cup with the edge of his spoon.

Yata blinked, not sure what to make of that reaction. His head felt like it was pulling him in all kinds of different directions. “Uh – yeah.” It hit him that maybe this was a nudge that he wasn’t exactly talking to Mikoto like a normal person, the way he’d said he wanted to, and grinned sheepishly. _Guess I’ll have to try harder._ “My bad.”

Saruhiko’s gaze lifted to meet his sharply, and a little shiver of… something… ran through Yata’s body. It wasn’t bad. Kind of exciting, actually.

He thought maybe he could get used to a feeling like that.

Munakata made a small sound, like something between a hum and a ‘hmph’, sounding amused. “It occurs to me that we’ve not all been properly introduced.” Once he had everyone’s attention, he smiled. “Suoh, this is my subordinate, Fushimi Saruhiko. Fushimi-kun, this is my live-in partner, Suoh Mikoto.”

Mikoto raised an eyebrow at  him. “What’s with that weird way of putting things? ‘Live-in partner’?”

The responding smile was almost overly pleasant. “It suffices to cover the awkwardness of our particular situation.”

“That’s what you’re calling it, huh?” Mikoto reached up to lift the cigarette from his mouth, heaved a sigh, and glanced over at Saruhiko. “Fushimi, was it? Good to meet you.”

Saruhiko’s answering gaze was narrow – Yata thought maybe he looked a bit wary, but he wasn’t sure where that impression came from. “Yeah.”

Yata paused in the middle of biting off edges of the cone around his diminished ice-cream, piecing together the conversation. “Wait a sec…” He glanced between his former leader and Saruhiko’s boss, dubiously. “Mikoto-san, you’re living with this guy now?”

Mikoto took a drag from his cigarette and blew out a huff of smoke, shutting his eyes with a rueful smile. “Wasn’t my idea, but yeah.”

Munakata pushed his glasses up on his face, expression unchanged. “I can’t say I was pleased with the arrangement myself. However, it does seem to be the ideal solution, given the circumstances.” He glanced at the table, where Saruhiko was still idly stirring the sloppy remains of his ice-cream while watching them banter. “I see the two of you have taken on the latest challenge.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, frowning back at his boss. “It wasn’t much of a challenge.”

“Nonetheless, you appear to have completed it successfully.”

Yata let out a dismissive sound, swallowing a bit of ice-cream and cone. “Tied it, too. Again.” Something occurred to him then, and he blinked. “Oh yeah – Mikoto-san, d’you know about the challenge thing?”

“Yeah.” Mikoto breathed out another puff of smoke. “Heard something about it.”

Beside him, Munakata made a small, amused-sounding ‘hmph’. “In any case, we are nearly at the halfway mark in this competition.” There was a gleam in his eye that Yata couldn’t read. “I’d be curious to hear the thoughts of the contestants now that we’ve reached this point.”

“Heh! I’m just getting warmed up!” Yata turned his gaze on Saruhiko, allowing himself a smirk. “Just wait until tomorrow’s challenge – I’ll be kicking ass in no time!”

Saruhiko raised an eyebrow at him in return. “I’ve heard that before. Anyway, I’m not sure how you can be so confident, considering how random these things are.” He frowned slightly, his eyes shifting to Munakata again. “We went from ‘dangerous places’ to ‘ice-cream’ overnight. Can’t the person writing these make up their mind?”

“Indeed.” Munakata smiled back with unaltered calm. “I personally found yesterday’s challenge to be – shall we say – _inadvisable_. Wouldn’t you agree, Suoh?”

Mikoto tucked the cigarette between his lips, unconcerned. “You and I almost never agree.”

Munakata glanced at him, something in his expression seeming to shift slightly in a way that was hard to place. “On that point, I believe we do see eye to eye.” He turned to face the table again, looking from Yata to Fushimi with a kind of mild speculation. “Regardless, we’ve taken far too much of your time already. Please do enjoy the rest of your date.”

Yata had just tucked the rest of his cone into his mouth; at that, he jerked in surprise, swallowing unexpectedly and driving himself into a coughing fit. He eyes watered and the world around him blurred out as he struggled to clear his windpipe enough to croak out some kind of demand for an explanation. “Ha… wha…”

Outside of everything, he heard Saruhiko click his tongue sharply. “Can you please not make weird assumptions like that?” he muttered.

“Oh? Am I mistaken? My apologies.” By the time Yata had recovered enough to glare up at him, Munakata was offering a pleasant, untroubled smile. His eyes were keen. “I’m afraid I must have misread the atmosphere. Please excuse my impudence.”

Yata’s face was burning; he wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion or if he was just flustered, but he couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. _Date,_ his brain echoed at him, with an almost gleeful force. _He thought it was a date. You’re on a date. Date, date, date…_

Mikoto sighed, pulling the remains of the cigarette from his lips and tossing a wry stare at Munakata. “Your personality really is rotten,” he commented, shifting to step forward again. He glanced sideways once, without pausing. “See you, Yata.”

“R-right!” It came out too sharp; Yata could feel the hot flush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears, and clenched his hands into fists without thinking. _A date…_ “S-see you!”

Munakata shut his eyes, letting out another small, amused huff. “Take care, Fushimi-kun,” he addressed them, still in that calculated, measuring tone, “Yata-kun.”

Yata scowled at him without responding as he strode past them. _“The rest of your date,”_ that voice echoed in his head again, mockingly. He couldn’t seem to get it to shut up now. _Damnit…_

There was the sound of a sharp exhaled breath from across the table; when Yata jerked his gaze in that direction, Saruhiko was deliberately not looking at him. “I’m going too,” he mumbled, turning sideways and rising from his seat in a single motion, the half-empty cup still in his hand.

“O-oi…” Yata fumbled up out of his seat, startled and more than a little confused by the abrupt dismissal. His head was still kind of reeling from the rest of it, and he didn’t quite know how to react now. “Wait – hold on – why – ?”

Saruhiko paused and turned to look back at him. His eyes were halfway veiled by his lashes, and his expression was as unreadable as always. He was half in the shade cast by the building’s awning, and the contrast of light and shadow complimented his hair and skin. Pale and dark. Really striking, in the way that sent a shiver through a person’s body.

Or maybe that was just him. Yata’s heart gave a confused little double beat, his slow-moving thoughts nearly catching up to some kind of revelation but still not quite grasping it yet.

“No reason,” Saruhiko mumbled, after what felt like forever. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked away, turning again to leave. “I’m tired, I guess.” Before he started to move again, he hesitated briefly, and added, without looking back, “See you tomorrow.”

“O-oh. Yeah. Tomorrow.” It registered through the confusion that he was being kinda lame. Yata hastily added an overly cheerful-sounding, “See ya!”

He felt that little squeeze in his chest again as Saruhiko raised a hand over his shoulder in response, and had to tear his eyes away to avoid watching him walk away. The fluttery feeling in his stomach was worse than ever, a mix of nerves and anxious pleasure.

_The hell’s wrong with me?_

_“Please do enjoy the rest of your date,”_ Munakata’s voice echoed in his head, as if in response. He looked down at the table, caught sight of his phone with the Apocalypse Bunker home page still open on the screen, and couldn’t help but think of Saruhiko’s cautious expression as he said Yata could handle the supply missions.

The endearing, startled look when Yata asked for his number…

The surge of excitement when he’d agreed to give it…

The charged feeling when their eyes met…

_Wait – could it – was it actually – maybe – kinda – like a date?_

The world around him seemed to fade off, drowned out by the rushing in his head. Yata stared at the table without actually seeing it, feeling the weight of something that probably should’ve been obvious start to coming crashing down around him. He… liked the idea. A lot, if the pleasant tingle that shot through him in response was any indicator. And if he liked the idea, that meant he wanted it to be a date, and if he wanted it to be a date, then…

_Fuck._ Yata’s hands were trembling; he squeezed them into fists, leaning forward to brace them on the table as he felt the edge of that painful truth. _No way… There’s no way…_

Even as he denied it, all the pieces were falling into place in his head. All those feelings he’d shrugged off. The way he wanted to see Saruhiko all the time and the disappointment that struck when he left. That fluttering feeling in his stomach, the way his chest squeezed in… It had been a while, but he knew what this was.

_Shit._ Yata shut his eyes and grimaced, wishing he could block out that awkward realization along with the rest of the world. _I fucking_ like _him._

The shock was starting to wear off, embarrassment settling in its place. Yata felt his face growing uncomfortably hot, and his knees started to shake. He dropped into a crouch, leaning forward to let his forehead hit the edge of the table with a light thud as the realization and the feelings that came with it overwhelmed him.

“Damn.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a struggle to resist the urge to turn back, but the unsettled feeling within Fushimi went a long way towards balancing that. He clicked his tongue harshly, quickening his pace just a little to push him past the point where Misaki might still be visible behind him.

The bus stop was in the opposite direction, but that was also the direction that Munakata and Suoh Mikoto had gone, and he didn’t particularly want to see them either, so he’d chosen to walk all the way around the block and back again to avoid everyone.

The memory of his boss’s amused smile was stark in his mind. _He knew perfectly well, huh?_ There was no way that comment had been an accident. Fushimi was used to Munakata’s personality by now; they’d worked closely together for long enough. One of his particular quirks was that he didn’t outright tell you things when he made an observation. If he felt it was interesting or worthwhile to let the person in question know, he’d nudge them into realizing it themselves.

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, aggravated by the clear manipulation. _He could’ve kept this one to himself._

It was ridiculous that he’d even be interested in something like a date. He’d never given more than a passing thought to the idea that he’d _meet someone_ , and then it had only been to scoff at the idea. Considering everything else, he didn’t need the added hassle in his life.

Even if he had bothered to think about it seriously, that nebulous ‘someone’ wouldn’t have been an obnoxious idiot who couldn’t keep his feelings in check.

As if on cue, that called up an image of Misaki in his head – that bright smile and those vibrant sparkling eyes, face lit up with emotion he didn’t even bother to hold back. Fushimi thought of the wistful, sad smiles in the darkness of the cellar, and the open surprise at being asked about his personal life. The smug smirks, the irritated frowns, the angry scowls… The transformation of his entire face when he grinned freely. The intense concentration in his eyes as he listened closely to everything Fushimi had to say.

It was like a fire lit in the core of his body. Warmth flooded all the way through him, to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he closed his eyes briefly, torn between the desire to revel in the feeling and the instinctive urge to cringe back from it. The intensity was terrifying.

But… it also felt good. Wholly, helplessly good.

_That’s it, huh?_ Fushimi opened his eyes, still moving forward despite the mingled resignation and anxiety making his limbs feel shaky and weak. His skin had prickled up, and his body felt oddly light. That was the feeling of wanting to date someone. The feeling of _liking_ someone. It wasn’t something he would’ve recognized on his own.

Then again… As he turned to cross the street, the vivid mental image of Misaki’s soft tongue gliding over the contours of his hand rose up unbidden, and Fushimi felt an awkward warmth rising on his face as a sly tendril of something shivery and pleasant stirred in his body.

At some point, he would have at least recognized _that_ reaction. You could only deny physical attraction for so long before it got too obvious to overlook.

It didn’t mean he had to like it.

Or do anything about it, for that matter. Fushimi pushed back the images in his head, deliberately making an effort to shut out the responses in his body that he now understood. This wasn’t something that had any kind of future, so there was no point in dwelling on it. The only thing he had to focus on was interacting with Misaki normally, and he was confident he could do that. Nothing had to change.

When he pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen to find something to occupy himself, the first thing that came up was the text message he’d left open – the simple, unanswered ‘gotcha!’ with the name ‘Yata Misaki’ at the top. His chest seemed to constrict briefly.

It felt like something had changed, regardless.


	7. Chapter 7

It was usually harder to get going on Monday than it was any other day of the week, considering he worked the early shift and Sunday was his day off, but this Monday was even worse than usual. Yata stirred awake at the sound of his alarm, blinking blearily at the ceiling. He felt… off. Like he’d just barely gotten to sleep, and it was already time to get up.

He was a heavy sleeper, though, so what the hell? Though he did seem to remember tossing for a while, flustered and frustrated, unable to stop thinking about –

_Fuck._

The exact reason for his unusual bout of insomnia came back to him in a rush. Yata grimaced, shutting his eyes and letting out a low groan as the reality of his situation sank in. He reached out and blindly stabbed at his phone’s snooze button, multiple times and with more force than necessary until the device went silent, feeling out of sorts and agitated already.

Looking back afterwards, it had been really goddamn obvious that he had a thing for Saruhiko. At least since they’d been stuck in that cellar. Probably before. Hell. He didn’t want to think about that too much. Plus, they were supposed to be competing. _You can’t just date your rival, goddamnit!_

… Wait. Could you?

Would Saruhiko even want to date him in the first place?

_Hell if I know._ Yata opened his eyes again, scowling up at the ceiling. He didn’t get any of this romance crap. Not that he hadn’t been attracted to anyone before – there had been a few times – but they weren’t people he could’ve talked to. They weren’t someone whose number was in his phone, who he’d just become friends with. This was totally new, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about it.

_Should_ he do something about it? That was a good question. Saruhiko was a guy, so the odds of a good response were low, right? He hadn’t thought about that stuff before either. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know about himself – there were enough embarrassing times in the past to make it clear. Just… dating _anyone_ was such a far off concept that he’d never even thought about it being harder to date another guy. It wasn’t normal, right? Most guys dated women.

Even if Saruhiko would date another man, would he date Yata? It was kinda hard to picture. He’d never really thought of himself as someone other people could like that way. Anyway, what kind of person would someone like Saruhiko even be attracted to?

There were way too many questions, and this shit was confusing. Yata let out a loud, frustrated breath, tired of the whole thing. He didn’t want to screw things up when they’d just got on good terms. Seemed better to just leave it be.

Problem was, now that he _knew_ about it, there was that itch to take action – to _do_ something. It was already bugging him. Letting things sit wasn’t his style at all.

_Well, whatever – just deal with it for now, and I’ll sort it out later._

Beside him, the alarm started to go off again.

_All right!_ Determination renewed, Yata pushed himself up. He had Homra to look after, and another challenge coming up, so the rest of it could wait. For now, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Switch clothing with someone of the opposite gender’.

Fushimi stared balefully at the challenge board for a second or two, before clicking his tongue sharply. “Whose idea of a joke is this?”

He’d already been in a bad mood before seeing it. Yesterday’s epiphany hadn’t done him any favors; as per usual, once he’d decided to ignore something, the universe seemed to conspire to remind him of it at every turn. Whether it was a game that seemed to have elements Misaki would probably like or a forum post that sounded like Misaki’s way of speaking, it felt like he couldn’t escape being reminded of these unwelcome emotions.

It didn’t help that he wasn’t used to feeling like this. Fushimi wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with the myriad of little details of Misaki’s appearance and habits that crept into his thoughts and made his breath shorten with inexplicable excitement. He didn’t know how to deal with the aimless anticipation lurking at the back of his mind, either.

It was stupid, really. There wasn’t anything to look forward to. The idea of approaching Misaki with this attraction in any way was so unappealing it made his stomach turn. Misaki _reciprocating_ was unthinkable. He couldn’t fathom it.

What would be the point of saying anything, under those circumstances?

Still, despite the fact that he’d made up his mind and had no intention of rethinking anything, apparently some remote corner of his brain had decided that there was still _something_ he needed to feel anxious about, because sleep had been fleeting. He’d been tired and surly all morning, and to top _that_ off, he’d spotted Misaki at the counter through the window when passing Homra, and the sudden spark of nervous excitement in his stomach had disgusted him so much that he’d changed his mind about getting a coffee.

He was regretting that now. And not only because he really did want to see and talk with Misaki.

_This is going to be a pain._

The only woman employed at the Scepter 4 Internet Café was Lieutenant Awashima. Fushimi wasn’t particularly interested in the dressing habits of his co-workers, but he had a good memory and a habit of picking up patterns. Awashima’s style was unapologetically feminine. Skirts, blouses, stockings and heels were the norm. If she was going to be on field duty, she’d have on her work boots and a more practical shirt, but pants were rare.

The impending humiliation wasn’t improving his mood.

There wasn’t much he could do about it if he wanted to maintain his lead. Fushimi found himself debating which was the worst prospect even as he turned away from the board and continued walking up the sidewalk towards his workplace. It wasn’t much of a struggle. Regardless of how he felt about his opponent, he didn’t like the idea of losing this competition, and losing by _default_ gave an impression of conscious inadequacy that even the slowest of his co-workers would pick up on. More than anything else, that prospect rankled.  Looking ridiculous for a few hours was more manageable.

That thought really did nothing to improve his mood – even the short walk to the café allowed it to fester in his mind, and he was more irritable than before by the time he made it there. It must have showed on his face, too, because Hidaka – who was standing at the front desk – offered him an apprehensive-looking smile. “Morning, Fushimi-san!”

The false cheer in the greeting was really obvious. Fushimi clicked his tongue. “What’s good about it?” he muttered, more to himself than in response, gaze shifting towards the back as he moved past the desk.

“Ah – well – the Lieutenant isn’t here just yet,” Hidaka continued, with a kind of earnest awkwardness that had Fushimi freezing in his tracks. “But don’t worry, Fushimi-san! I’m sure she’ll be a good sport about it!”

_He saw it already, huh?_ That was annoying. Fushimi clicked his tongue again, drawing in a sharp breath. “You should already know that’s not the issue.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause. When Hidaka spoke again, the forced cheer was back in his voice. “Well… either way, it’ll be fine, right? It – I’m sure it won’t look _that_ bad…”

It was hard to tell what was worse – the obvious pity or the attempt to make him feel better about this embarrassment. Fushimi let out an irritated breath and continued on towards the back without bothering to reply.

_Today just keeps getting worse…_

It was just Kamo in the back room, busily preparing some snacks to have on hand for customers and clients. He greeted Fushimi normally, but there was an awkward tension about him that gave away his knowledge of the situation.

At least he didn’t say anything about it. Everyone was going to know before too much longer, one way or another. As long as he could keep the idiotic reactions to a minimum, the day’s suffering could be kept to a reasonable level.

Fushimi wasn’t really getting his hopes high on that score either, knowing this place.

Awashima arrived less than ten minutes after he’d sat down to get some work done, her expression unconcerned. “Fushimi,” she greeted him, and smiled faintly. “My apologies for the delay. If I’d known, I would have left early.”

“It’s fine.” He didn’t particularly want her there early in the first place. Fushimi took the opportunity to give her outfit a once-over, and the unpleasant knot of dread in his stomach seemed to congeal into a cold certainty. She had on one of her typical short skirts that clung to her hips, a delicate-looking blouse in a fetching shade of pearl-white with a very light lacy trim on the sleeves and collar, and her usual thigh-high work boots.

The combination of the fancier top and the work boots was unusual, but otherwise, it was about what he’d expected. _Unfortunately._

“We might as well get started.” Awashima turned towards the kitchen, brusquely taking action as usual. “Kamo. Are you aware of the latest challenge?”

The man in question turned immediately, straightening. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Good. I’ll have you wait with Fushimi while he removes his current clothing.” She lifted her purse strap over her head as she outlined the course of action she’d obviously come up with on the way in, setting it at her workstation calmly. “Once you deliver those to me, I’ll change and hand you mine in return, so you can pass them on. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

It was typical of her to take command, but something about her undisturbed acceptance of the situation was irksome. Fushimi clicked his tongue, pushing his chair away from his desk. _You seriously don’t have any complaints about this at all?_

Awashima turned her cool-eyed gaze on him. “Was there a problem, Fushimi?”

“No.” He resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sigh, rising to his feet reluctantly. “Nothing.”

Might as well get this nightmare started.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, ‘nightmare’ was an understatement.

Awashima’s clothing did not fit him properly. It wasn’t just in the sense of their height difference – which was probably negligible in the first place – or the fact that the design was notably feminine. The fact of the matter was that Lieutenant Awashima was generously proportioned in ways that Fushimi was generously _not_ , and her clothing was tailored to fit _her_ , not him. The cut of the neckline that accentuated her curves sagged nearly to the center point of Fushimi’s ribcage, loose fabric billowing in unflattering folds around his flat chest and stomach. The shoulders were visibly strained, to the point where he was unable to raise his arms for fear of ripping the delicate fabric, and the sleeves reached to about mid-forearm, leaving his wrists dangling free. Without the wristbands he normally wore to protect his skin when he drew his knives, they felt awkward and unnaturally exposed – and the contrast between the ill-fitting sleeves and the loose mess around his torso was comical.

He didn’t fare any better with the bottom half of the outfit. Awashima’s body was quite well balanced; her hips and thighs were as sturdy as her chest. Fushimi was equally well balanced in his _lack_ of body mass, and that was painfully obvious when he attempted to don a skirt designed to be held up by hips he didn’t even come close to possessing. The waistline nearly fit him, but the skirt sagged in the sides and failed to cling to his legs, and looked – frankly – pathetic. The effect was topped off by the boots that normally sat snuggly against Awashim’s thighs, which now bunched loosely around the region of Fushimi’s knees, awkward and unsupported.

The similarity to a child trying on their mother’s clothing struck him as he regarded the effect, and he couldn’t help but click his tongue, scowling at the image in the mirror.

He’d initially attempted to tuck the mass of useless fabric hanging off of his chest into the waistband of the skirt, but the bulging effect around his waist had only managed to make things worse. Instead, he left it hanging out in the open, halfway covering the sloppy-fitting skirt in a distinctly unfinished-looking way.

_This is ridiculous._

Worse than all of that was the fact that he had no place to fasten most of his knife harnesses. There was no room in the sleeves or under the skirt. Fastening them to the top of the boots would have made them top-heavy and impossible to keep upright, and securing them somewhere within would have made them too difficult to get to in the first place – not to mention adding the potential to aggravate his injury. He was a larger shoe size than Awashima in the first place, so the boots pinched, and he wasn’t anxious to add to that.

The only place left was in the space beneath the sagging folds of the blouse. Fushimi’s chest harness was not in general use these days; he’d cut back, as requested, so he only had the arm harnesses and the straps on his boots most of the time. However, the prospect of going around completely unarmed had set him on edge, and he’d ended up asking Kamo to retrieve the spare from their storage room. It was visible as a vague, dark outline under the sheer fabric of the blouse, and it would be difficult to reach the knives, but he felt better having it on him.

Not _much_ better, considering everything else, but it was something, at least.

Fushimi was starting to give the idea of spending the rest of the day in the staff changing room some serious consideration when his phone, which he’d left on the bench after removing it from his pants pocket, suddenly buzzed.

_Now what?_ He clicked his tongue, but automatically reached for it just the same, pausing to check the screen. When he saw the preview, he instinctively sucked in a breath, skin prickling as if the temperature had dropped.

‘New text message from Yata Misaki’.

_Misaki…_ With everything else, those thoughts had been effectively pushed to the back of his mind, but all it took was this simple reminder to bring everything back. Fushimi frowned at the device, torn between irritation and that automatic tingle of excitement that rose up unbidden at the thought of Misaki contacting him.

It was useless, of course, but the reaction couldn’t be helped.

_Well, it doesn’t matter._ It wasn’t like he didn’t have a certain amount of experience burying unwanted emotions. Once he was used to it, covering it up would be like second nature, and eventually, he was sure that it would go away on its own. If nothing else, sooner or later there’d be proof that Misaki had no return interest, and then these bothersome feelings would fade naturally.

That was the most likely outcome, anyway.

Fushimi swiped his finger across the screen, bringing up the message window. Misaki had sent him a picture. He tapped it with his thumb to expand it – and, for the second time in under a minute, a shiver ran through his body and he forgot to breathe.

It wasn’t so much the most obvious part of the picture that caught his attention, although it was impossible not to notice the red and black Lolita-style dress that Misaki was wearing. It looked surprisingly natural on him, though the obvious tension in his posture made his discomfort clear. Anna was a small girl, but somehow the dress had been adjusted to fit. As he stared at the picture longer, Fushimi absently was able to pick out the details on how this had been accomplished. The sleeves and torso of the dress had not made it over Misaki’s chest and shoulders, but rather seemed to have been folded over neatly just above his elbows and across his ribcage. Because the back was done up with laces, this adjustment could work without too much fussing, it seemed. The fur-lined hooded shawl that completed the ensemble covered most of the evidence of the tampering, but the stark triangle of sun-touched skin that this revealed just beneath Misaki’s collarbone gave everything away.

Despite that bit of awkwardness, the outfit looked _good_ , surprisingly so, and not because Misaki could in any way be mistaken for female. He was unquestionably male – just with a fitted corset-style top, fetchingly draped shawl, and attractively puffed skirt that brushed the top of his knees. The look wasn’t bad at all.

The part that had taken Fushimi’s attention and elicited an immediate reaction wasn’t any of that, though. His gaze was drawn to Misaki’s face, and it was the expression there that stole his breath more than anything else. Misaki’s lips jutted in an almost comical scowl, as if he were saying _fight me_ – Fushimi could almost hear the pugnacious tone just looking at him. There was a stark, brilliant flush that spread across his cheekbones and down the fleshed part of his face to almost reach his jawline, which was visibly tense, as if he was struggling to keep his cool. Above that, his eyes were focused fiercely on the camera, a kind of stubborn intensity in the expression. It was almost possible to see the emotion flashing across them, and even though he knew it was impossible, Fushimi thought, staring at the picture with his heart firmly lodged in his throat, that he could see those emotions play and change in that single, still shot.

Furious embarrassment… determination… pride… obstinacy… indignation…

It was all so vibrant and open, he couldn’t help but just… stare. Misaki was beautiful.

Almost as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Fushimi lowered the phone, lip curling with disgust. _Less than twenty-four hours and I’m already thinking like that._ It was beyond ridiculous, this whole infatuation business.

His pulse was racing and there was a shivery feeling swirling in his stomach. One of Fushimi’s eyebrows twitched, and he clicked his tongue sharply, resisting the urge to steal another glance at the picture. Without properly focusing on it, he brought up his phone again, intending to close both the image and the text message – and then paused, uncertain.

It was stupid, but…

_It doesn’t matter anyway._ Clicking his tongue again at his own hesitation, Fushimi decisively moved to save the photo to his phone’s storage.

Since he was already aware of it, this kind of impulse was to be expected.

There was still the challenge to be taken care of, too. _Might as well get this over with._ He couldn’t exactly avoid it, so there was no point in wasting time here. Fushimi closed the text message screen, attempting to push both the picture and the emotions it had evoked as far from his conscious thought as he possibly could. After a brief second’s thought, he brought up the camera instead of locking the phone, and turned to head for the door before he could re-think the whole business.

If he’d bothered to put logical thought into any of this, he wouldn’t be in this ridiculous situation – there was no point in applying it now.

It was impossible not to notice the way that every pair of eyes in the room seemed to turn his way when he opened the door and stepped out. Fushimi’s frown deepened. _Nobody in this place has any shame, huh?_ Since he’d gone in to change, Kamo had been joined by Doumyouji, Fuse, Benzai, and Akiyama, whose expressions ranged from comically goggle-eyed to just plain startled as they took in his appearance.

Nothing he hadn’t expected, but the attention was irritating. Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Don’t any of you have better things to do?”

Fuse blinked at him slowly, his face starting to curl up in a mix of horror and something like open dismay. Benzai raised both eyebrows, turning his head without expression to retrieve the paperwork on his desk. Kamo had immediately retreated to the kitchen, suspiciously stony-faced. Akiyama offered a polite, strained smile, his gaze shifting back to his computer screen with something like relief.

In the suffocating silence that fell, the loud clatter of Doumyouji’s chair pushing back as he jerked violently to his feet was almost thunderous. As Fushimi turned a withering look his way, he slapped a hand over his mouth, a sound suspiciously akin to a snicker escaping from behind his fingers, and then, without a word, he made a break for the entrance to the stairway, slamming the door behind him. The faint but unmistakable sound of hysterical laughter emanated from behind it.

If anything, the atmosphere in the room had gone from strained to unbearably tense. Fushimi scowled at the door, aware of the fact that every one of his co-workers in the room was now deliberately trying to pretend he wasn’t there.

At least it was better than the useless gawking.

Regardless, he still had something to take care of, and it was better to get that over with quickly. Fushimi quickly surveyed his options, and then went with the least annoying of what he had to work with. “Akiyama.”

The man in question visibly jolted in his seat, tensing. When he turned around, though, his face was an overly polite mask of control. “Yes?”

That was at least tolerable. Fushimi resisted the urge to click his tongue, stepping forward and holding out his phone to his increasingly apprehensive-looking co-worker. “Take a picture of me.”

Akiyama blinked at him, looking faintly startled, but recovered quickly, offering a slightly bewildered smile as he reached out to take the device. “Of course, Fushimi-san.”

The phone had barely changed hands when the door from the front room opened and Awashima stepped through. “Akiyama, Benzai – I’m going to need one of you to do up the reports for – ”

She halted in mid-sentence, her expression reflecting a certain amount of surprise as she took in Fushimi’s appearance. He couldn’t help but notice, a bit cynically, that she’d managed a lot better with his clothing than he had with hers. She had prudently covered his shirt with the work blazer normally reserved for meetings with clients, which was something of a relief – he hadn’t wanted to think about the alternative – and she’d managed to fit into his pants despite the obvious tension around the hips. He honestly wasn’t quite sure how she’d got them on, and he didn’t particularly want to know, either. But somehow or another, she’d managed to look presentable – even classy.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, feeling his irritation rise. _Figures._

After that brief moment of forming an initial impression, Awashima abruptly shut her eyes and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, as if with disappointment. “Oh, Fushimi,” she sighed.

Something about that tone was even more annoying. “What?”

She shook her head, opening her eyes to regard him evenly, and then strode confidently towards the door to the changing room. “Come with me.”

The imperious tone had his hackles rising even further. Fushimi frowned at her back, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

When she turned to face him again, her gaze was pointed. “I’m assuming you want to have some chance of winning this challenge?” There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause, and then she added, with a slightly raised eyebrow, “Also, if you’re going to send a picture of yourself to your opponent, it might be prudent to put some effort into your appearance first.”

A tiny, irrational prickle of alarm rose up from somewhere in the region of his gut. Fushimi stared back at her, caught without a response as he felt the sensation grow to a kind of gnawing unease. The memory of that picture stored on his phone was still vivid in his mind, and placed alongside the mirror image he’d seen after dressing himself, he couldn’t deny that the comparison was not in his favor. Now that he thought about it clearly, he really didn’t care for the idea of sending an image of himself as he was. And not just for the sake of winning the challenge.

Despite the fact that it was ridiculous… despite all the logical reasons why there was no point in even making an effort to impress… despite the fact that appearance wasn’t going to make the slightest difference in how Misaki thought of him… still…

_How annoying._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, turning his scowl to the side. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I didn’t say you had.” At that point, she didn’t even pause for a response, turning her attention from him instead. “Benzai, I’ll need you to go to the storage room and bring me two of the Velcro straps from our leg braces, as well as some large pins and – if you can find them quickly – safety clamps.”

He was out of his seat almost immediately. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

“That should cover it.” Awashima frowned thoughtfully, and then raised her gaze just as Fushimi looked at her fully, offering a small, rare smile when their eyes met. It was there and gone in an instant; within that short period of time, she was straightening again, turning briskly to open the door. “Follow me.”

There wasn’t any point in weighing his options on this one. Fushimi clicked his tongue again, turning reluctantly to do as she’d asked.

This challenge contest really was more trouble than it was worth.

 

* * *

 

 

Even past the embarrassment of being a grown-ass man wearing a little girl’s frilly dress, Yata was finding Anna’s clothing to be the worst thing he’d ever put on his body. And that was counting the time he’d rolled down a hill into a patch of burrs as a kid. It had taken hours for his mom to pluck all of the spines from his skin, but that pain had nothing on this.

It wasn’t that the clothing was bad. It was fine. On someone it fucking _fit_. So far in the two hours since he’d put this shit on, Yata had been forced to take the shoes off five times to give his feet a break, because they felt like a mass of blisters and cramps. Balancing was a struggle – not because the heels were all that high, but because he wasn’t used to the tilt and his feet fucking _hurt_. He couldn’t even properly catch himself if he fell, because his arms were trapped against his body at the elbow. It was like a slow, fiendish torture, whittling his endurance down one humiliating step at a time.

_Gimme a break here!_ Yata shut his eyes just long enough to heave a sigh, ignoring the inventory clipboard and the fully stocked shelves in their storage for the moment. _What the hell kind of jerk writes these stupid challenges?_

This one definitely had that feeling of someone sitting back with a smirk watching him suffer.

_That kinda pisses me off…_

As his thoughts wandered, Yata absently let his right hand drift to the pocket in the skirt of Anna’s dress, where his cell phone was currently sitting. It had been silent all morning. At first, he’d checked it every few minutes just to make sure it hadn’t shut itself off or randomly had the battery drain or just failed to notify him of an incoming text message, but after the first hour, the anxious anticipation had started to fade off into something like disappointment.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, and that was kind of pissing him off, too.

“How’s it going in here, Yata-chan?” Kusanagi’s voice interrupted that thought. When he turned around, startled, his older friend was standing in the open doorway, a small smile on his lips. “Looked like you were lost in your own head for a while there. Something bugging you?”

“Uh… no. Not really.” Yata offered a bit of a sheepish grin in return, a little chagrined at being caught. It had been a mercy when Kusanagi offered to have him take stock of their inventory rather than working the front or making deliveries, so the least he could do in return was try to focus. “Sorry, I got kinda distracted. Won’t happen again, I swear!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kusanagi shook his head, looking a bit amused. “Just wanted to let you know I spoke with Seri-chan earlier, and we figured we’ll give the two of you a break and settle this challenge in a vote this afternoon. That way you can change back before heading home.”

“Really?” Yata couldn’t help but feel his shoulders slump, some of the tension draining out of them at that. “Man… that’s a relief!” He wasn’t sure how he would’ve made it through the bus ride – or even crossing his apartment complex. And he didn’t just mean the discomfort and limited mobility.

Nothing against girls’ clothing, but he didn’t think his pride would survive the damage to his image.

“Well… mainly because Seri-chan wanted to take her clothing home with her, I think.” Kusanagi shrugged. “Also, I’m sure Anna would like her dress back in one piece.”

“I got it! I’m being careful.” Yata grinned back, his spirits lifted despite the pain in his feet clamoring for his attention again. “Just, y’know… wearing this in public’d be kinda… well…”

“No need to say any more.” Kusanagi chuckled. “Though I think most people would just assume you lost a bet or something along those lines.” His gaze still held that faintly amused edge. “Besides, I’ve said this before, but you don’t look half bad, Yata-chan.”

“O-oh. Yeah, sure.” If it had been two hours earlier, he would’ve been violently protesting, but he was kind of resigned to it now. Yata started to raise a hand to scratch at his head and was stopped by the dress binding his arms down. He lowered it again, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders instead and trying for casual cheer. “You don’t need to try to make me feel better or anything, Kusanagi-san! We all know it’s weird for a grown man to wear a kid’s dress, right? That’s why it’s a challenge!”

With any luck, that’d be the end of that subject. Yata wasn’t sure if the compliments were better or worse than teasing, but he’d been getting more of the first than the second from his friends for some reason, and it was weird as hell. Even Eric had given him a nod and a perfectly serious ‘looks good, actually’, and Chitose had thumped him on the shoulder and told him he could go clubbing just like that and probably get more than a few phone numbers.

He wasn’t really sure if they were messing with him or trying to make him feel better. _Don’t really wanna hear that I look good in this kinda stuff…_

Without thinking, he dipped his hand into the pocket holding his phone again. It was still silent.

“Fushimi hasn’t contacted you?” When he glanced up again, startled, Kusanagi was eyeing him keenly.

_Shit._ Yata felt an uncomfortable wave of warmth surging up to his face. “Nah.” He wasn’t even sure what kind of response he’d expected from Saruhiko in the first place, so it was stupid to be disappointed that there was nothing. But still… with the way everyone was going on about how it looked and all… He tried to shrug it off. “S’fine. Not like he has to.”

“True,” Kusanagi agreed easily, reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes. “Maybe he’s embarrassed.”

“Huh?” Yata stared back, feeling his eyebrows furrow at that. “Why?” It wasn’t like Saruhiko had ever seemed shy about offering an opinion. And if it was about ponying up a picture in return, well… “We’re both gonna look like idiots, so what’s the big deal?”

“Ah.” Kusanagi tapped out one of the cigarettes lightly, setting it between his lips. “Trying to make a good impression… maybe?” he mused, almost to himself.

Yata frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kusanagi shut his eyes, letting out a soft, amused-sounding huff. “Never mind.”

There was no way he was gonna leave it at that. Yata opened his mouth to protest – and promptly lost his train of thought as his cell phone buzzed. A little spike of something like anxious excitement shot through him, and he hastily pulled it out of his pocket.

‘New text message from Fushimi Saruhiko’.

That spike abruptly seemed to ricochet out across his entire body. _He responded!_ Yata hastily swiped his finger across the screen, bringing up the message. The reply was just a picture, no text, but it bumped up his anticipation a notch. Without looking too closely at the smaller version, he tapped it with his thumb to view it in full.

Just like he’d thought, it was a picture of Saruhiko in his female boss’s clothing, and it… it wasn’t bad. Yata stared at the image for a moment, his emotions seeming to whirl around inside him. The top was clearly tight around Saruhiko’s shoulders; despite his slender build, he was still somewhat broad in that area, and with the close fit it was possible to see that his thin arms did have some muscle to them. The neckline dipped down to a point that showed off more pale skin than Yata had seen so far, and he couldn’t help but swallow hard, a tiny knot forming in his stomach as he noticed it. For some reason, the shirt had been pulled to the side, pinned and clipped into a sort of elegant-looking twist, which left a thin line of skin bared between it and the waistband of the skirt as well.

Speaking of that skirt, too… it was fairly short, with a bit of a sweep off to the side like on the top so it fit more closely to Saruhiko’s slight hips. Still, there was only a small amount of thigh visible above the boots, which were… looking maybe a bit loose, but seemed to have been secured somehow, and did a lot to draw attention to those long, thin legs.

_He pulled it off,_ Yata thought to himself, feeling a bit dazed. He couldn’t pull his eyes from that picture, and had to remind himself to breathe. Saruhiko looked…really good. Not just the way his body was more plainly visible. He was also staring at the camera directly, but there was a forward tilt to his face, as if he’d dipped his head, and Yata could see behind the lens of his glasses that he’d veiled his eyes a bit with his long lashes, the guarded expression somehow interlaced with wariness and even a hint of uncertainty. Hesitation, maybe. If he hadn’t been staring so closely, he might have missed it, but the discovery took what remained of Yata’s breath away.

Saruhiko was _fucking beautiful_. Damn.

It was honestly hard to look away from that face, but somehow, Yata’s eyes caught on a dark outline visible through the sheer fabric of the blouse. He couldn’t quite make it out, but when he zoomed in, it kind of looked like…

_Hold up… is that a… knife halter?_

That discovery shouldn’t have been exciting, but somehow the tension in Yata’s stomach went up by about a hundred. He swallowed again, hard. _Goddamnit… What the fuck is wrong with me?_

“I take it you got a response from Fushimi, then?” Kusanagi commented, from behind him.

Yata just about dropped his phone, fingers jerking reflexively and skin prickling up with surprise. He’d kind of forgotten he wasn’t alone; the reminder made his face burn. “Huh? Uh. Right! Yeah.” He lowered the phone quickly, raising his head with a forced grin. “G-got it!”

The cigarette had been lit sometime when he was focusing on that picture; Kusanagi blew out a small huff of smoke, holding it between his fingers. “Good to hear. And?”

Yata blinked at him, confused. “And what?”

“How’s it look?”

The question was innocent enough, but combined with his earlier thoughts, it threw his brain back into a kind of flustered chaos. “Eh? H-how…? I-I mean, it’s – it’s fine! Normal, right? Just – just different clothes, nothing special, y’know? Hah…”

“Ah, I see.” Kusanagi set the cigarette back between his lips, looking faintly amused.

_What’s that s’posed to mean, huh?_   Yata was feeling on edge enough to ask it, but before he could, Anna appeared in the doorway. “Izumo.” She was wearing Yata’s shirt, which Kusanagi had tactfully pinned at the collar to keep it from sliding over one shoulder. The sleeves, elbow-length on him, hung to her wrists, and the hem of the shirt nearly reached her knees. The shorts, too, were impossibly long, like three-quarter length pants, and they swam on her. Following Kusanagi’s advice, she’d improvised a belt to keep them from sliding off.

Because of her diminutive size, the whole thing looked ridiculously cute. Yata was a little embarrassed by it; those were his clothes, after all. It wasn’t like he didn’t already think of himself as kind of a substitute big brother, but… well… it was just a little...

_Whatever – no point thinking about it too much, right?_

“There’s a lot of customers coming in,” Anna continued, oblivious to those thoughts.

“Oh? Lunchtime rush, huh?” Kusanagi turned to smile ruefully at her. “I guess I’ll have to go help them out, since Fujishima won’t be here for another hour or so.” He turned to head out of the room, waving a hand behind him. “Take it easy, Yata-chan.”

“Ah – wait – ” The protest rose up instinctively; somehow, now that he got a clear picture of how his friends were going out of their way for him, it just didn’t sit right. _It’s too busy because I’m not helping up front, right?_ Just the thought of causing trouble for the people closest to him was hugely unsettling. _Damnit, I’m being totally uncool!_ All because of this stupid challenge, and him not being able to handle it properly.

No way was he leaving it like that!

Yata squared his shoulders, trying to ignore the shawl sitting over them. “Don’t worry about it, Kusanagi-san!” He met the questioning look straight on, drawing up his determination. It kind of helped to think about that uncertainty he’d seen in Saruhiko’s picture. _If he can push himself, I can too!_ “I’ll head up front and help ‘em right now!”

Kusanagi blinked at him for a second, clearly taken aback. “Sure about that, Yata-chan? It’ll be a lot of customers…”

_Don’t remind me…_ “Yeah, I can handle it!” Yata grinned back with as much confidence as he could muster. “Just leave it to me!”

The startled look settled back into a smile. “Well, then, in that case, I’ll be counting on you.” Kusanagi turned again to step out of the room. “I’ll be in the break room going over the paperwork if you need anything, okay?”

“Got it!”

Anna lingered for a bit after Kusanagi left. When Yata set the clipboard down and stepped up to the door, she smiled up at him. “Thank you, Misaki.” She hesitated for just a second, then tilted her head a bit. “I think it’s fine to go barefoot.”

“Ah…” That was a good point; in his enthusiasm, he’d forgotten how sore his feet were. Yata’s grin took on a sheepish edge as he slid the shoes off, biting back a sigh of relief. “Right. Thanks, Anna.”

Her smile warmed further. “Good luck,” she added, before turning to follow Kusanagi.

“Yeah. I got this,” Yata muttered to himself, taking in a deep breath and bracing himself. He moved to shove his phone back into the pocket, and then stopped for a second, catching sight of the image still up on his screen.

It only took a second to make up his mind. Feeling his cheeks warm again, Yata hastily saved the picture to his phone before closing everything and stuffing it away, striding purposefully towards the door leading out to the shop.

Probably a good thing he wouldn’t have too much time to think closely about that.

 

* * *

 

 

If he’d been hoping it would get easier to handle the stares and the questions – and to be honest, he kinda had been – Yata was sadly mistaken. Most people did a double take when they saw him, a few giggled or snickered, and some just outright stared. Every so often he got asked if he’d lost a bet, as Kusanagi had predicted, or he’d get someone trying to be nice complimenting him on his ‘unusual’ outfit. It was annoying as hell, and he had to mentally hold himself back by repeating the mantra of ‘customer, customer, customer’ in his head in order to avoid saying something rude or just punching some of the more obnoxious ones in the face.

Not that he could’ve done that even if he wasn’t holding himself back, considering his arms were only mobile from the elbow done, but yeah. Frustrating as hell.

He’d mostly stopped blushing, at least...

Anyway, it was a relief when Fujishima made it in, and even more of a relief when the rush finally started to die down, the mostly-deserted shop feeling like some kind of nirvana after all of that suffering. Yata actually let out an audible, half-groaning breath when the last person in the line-up pushed through the door with his coffee in hand.

Chitose gave him a commiserating pat on the shoulder. “I’ll do the cleanup,” he offered, heading for the back room.

“Eric and I can handle the front,” Fujishima added, directing a small smile in Yata’s direction, “at least until we get more delivery requests. Want to restock us?”

That was tempting as hell. Still… Yata shook his head. “I can’t carry much with these sleeves, remember? One of you guys should do it.” He straightened again, offering back a grin and a shrug. “Thanks anyway. I got this, though – don’t sweat it!”

The door to the back opened again before he could get an answer. “Looks like things are quiet again,” Kusanagi remarked, stepping in ahead of Chitose, who’d brought out the cleaning supplies. “If you want to start taking breaks, now might be a good time.”

“Oh, right.” Now that he thought about it, Eric had opened today, and he’d only had one break so far. “Then – ”

The sound of the front door’s distinctive jingle interrupted that thought. “Welcome to Homra!” Fujishima announced promptly, before Yata could recover himself. When he turned, his co-worker was stepping up in time to greet the customer…

… who happened to be the blonde boss from Scepter 4.

Yata’s skin prickled up when her eyes met his; he fought the urge to look away, feeling like he was being cross-examined already. _What’s she doing here?_ He couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a pair of familiar boots with some men’s dress pants and felt a weird little churn of something like irritation in his stomach.

_Right – she switched with Saruhiko, didn’t she?_

“Yata-kun,” she greeted him, inclining her head slightly as she stepped up to the counter. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you out front.” That came with a slightly raised eyebrow as she gave him a quick once-over. “Though, to be honest, it seems you’ve done well with this challenge.”

Traitorous heat rose up fast on his face again; he instinctively frowned back, feeling kind of defensive about it. “N-not that big a deal! Anyway, it’d be lame to hide in the back like a coward!”

“I see.” Awashima’s response was cool and unconcerned; her expression didn’t change. “In any case, I’ve come to discuss how we’re going to determine the winner for this particular challenge.” Her gaze slid to Kusanagi. “Or, rather, when and where we’re going to conduct the vote we discussed earlier.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Chitose’s voice cut in unexpectedly; when they all turned to look at him, he offered a bit of a grin. “I hate to contradict a pretty lady, but don’t you think our guy’s got the edge on this one?”

Yata stared at him. _The hell?_

Awashima raised both eyebrows at that. “’Our’ guy?” she repeated, and her frown deepened. “How, exactly, did you reach that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who said you weren’t expecting him to be out here.” Chitose shrugged, the confident smirk not leaving his face. “He’s been pushing himself right through the noon rush, embarrassment and all. Don’t you think that counts for a little extra?”

“I agree,” Fujishima added, quiet and confident. He returned Yata’s startled look with a small smile.

“He looked about ready to combust with every customer,” Eric commented blandly, and offered a smile of his own, rare and sincere. “Shows you how difficult it was, and he did it anyway.”

Yata couldn’t help but glance around at all of them, the sudden show of solidarity catching him completely off-guard. He wasn’t sure how to react. “You guys…”

Kusanagi let out an amused huff. “Sorry, Seri-chan – I’m going to go ahead and add my voice on that one.” He smiled at her from across the room, gaze even and relaxed. “He had chances to take the easy way out, and no one here would’ve blamed him.” His gaze shifted to meet Yata’s and the smile widened. “Our Yata-chan’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide – particularly when it comes to helping others out.” That came with a shrug. “It’s his biggest charm point, after all.”

There was a lump rising at the back of Yata’s throat; he had to swallow hard around it, and that didn’t do anything to reduce the size or the ache. “K-Kusanagi-san…?” _Everyone…_ Somehow, he found he couldn’t speak properly with emotion welling up so strongly within him; he wasn’t sure he’d find the words.

_They’ve all got my back._ It wasn’t like he didn’t know it, but still… even something small like this…

Awashima sighed, shutting her eyes briefly. “You all seem quite insistent about something that isn’t particularly relevant.” When she opened them again, her gaze was direct. “I’m not certain it’s fair to make a judgment call based on something that wasn’t inferred by the rules or the challenge itself. Both participants should be aware beforehand of anything that might give them an advantage – wouldn’t you say?”

Kusanagi raised both hands, as if in mock surrender. “Unforgiving as ever, Seri-chan! Can’t say I’m surprised.” His smile was rueful. “Well, it’s a fair point. Maybe I’m letting my bias speak for me.”

“Understandable.” Her face softened in a smile. It was almost startling what a difference that change in expression made. The severity seemed to melt away. “I’ll admit to carrying my own bias, of course. In the interest of fairness, I’ll convey your suggestion to our team – though I can’t promise impartiality on the matter.” There was a brief pause. “The Captain will, of course, have an opinion of his own.”

Kusanagi sighed. “No doubt he will.”

Yata glanced between them, puzzling together the conversation in his head. “Hang on – you’re saying it’s not fair to Saruhiko, right?” Despite his gratitude to his friends for sticking up for him, that had him frowning back seriously, eyebrows coming down. “Forget it, then! I don’t need any advantage!” He made an attempt to fold his arms over his chest and had to settle for awkwardly straightening up instead when the sleeves prevented it. “Let’s go right ahead with this vote thing – I’ll win it fair and square!”

“Yata-chan.” Kusanagi set a hand on his shoulder; when he turned, his older friend offered him a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let Seri-chan discuss it with her team first, and we’ll see what’s what.”

Just the idea that he couldn’t win cleanly was twisting in his stomach like a knife. Yata drew himself up to protest again. “But – !”

“This is not a matter for the contestants to determine,” Awashima cut in, crisply. “I’ll have to ask you to leave it in the hands of the judges now, Yata-kun.” Her gaze was cool and even when he turned to face her again. “You can be sure that I won’t tolerate any unfairness – particularly against _our_ Fushimi.”

There wasn’t much he could say to that – and the brisk, unforgiving manner was a little on the unsettling side. Yata frowned at her for a second, and then turned his gaze, letting out a soft, half-hearted ‘ch’. “Fine.”

Awashima didn’t so much as bat an eye at the grudging response. “I’ll be in touch later, then,” she said instead, and turned abruptly from the counter, striding back towards the door. The familiar jingle heralded her exit.

Kusanagi gave Yata’s shoulder another reassuring pat, and then pulled his hand back. “Well, that’s that,” he commented, and directed a wry smile at all of them. “Excitement’s over – let’s get back to business, boys.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t until Yata had just stepped through the door to the back – taking the second break, after Eric had returned – that his phone buzzed at him again. He pulled it out automatically as he was heading towards the break area and checked the display.

‘New text message from Fushimi Saruhiko’.

That little spark of excitement stirred up automatically in his stomach; Yata swiped his thumb across the screen to open the message, anticipation already growing within him.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the simple ‘Go ahead and take the win’ wasn’t it.

For a moment, he just froze up, halting in mid-stride and staring down at the message. _What does he… ?_ Irritation hit shortly after, and he frowned down at the screen, eyes narrowing, before moving to furiously type back.

‘don’t fuck with me!!! I don’t need any favors’

It was hard to curb his impatience, sitting there staring at the screen waiting for a response, but Yata managed it. Luckily, Saruhiko didn’t keep him waiting long.

‘I’m not being generous here. You wouldn’t catch me parading around in front of customers like this.’

He hadn’t quite processed that much before more joined it: ‘Technically, you just won the idiot prize, so help yourself.’

Somehow, that eased off the tension. He wasn’t sure why since he’d just been called an idiot, but Yata found himself letting out an amused huff of breath, shoulders slumping and a rueful smile tilting up the corners of his mouth as his irritation seemed to melt away. He started to move towards the couch again, typing up a response as he did and then dropping onto the seat when he finished. Anna’s dress flopped messily around him; he ignored it in favor of the exchange on his phone.

‘hah, you always say that when you lose.’

‘I can’t help it if you only win the dumbest ones.’

‘yeah says you. whatever I’ll take it, it was rough working up front like this.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

There was a response hanging around at the front of Yata’s mind, but he hesitated to type it out, thumbs hovering and a scowl forming on his face as he glared at the screen to cover the embarrassment forming behind his thoughts. It wasn’t like him to hold back, but this…

Impulsively, he scrolled up until the picture of Saruhiko was visible, and felt his cheeks grow hot as that pleasant shiver ran through his body again at the sight.

_Fuck it._ ‘you do look good tho’, he typed, and sent it before he could rethink the idea.

The response took longer than usual. Yata stared at the screen impatiently, one foot tapping on the ground, anxiety and embarrassment flooding through his system in waves. _That wasn’t too weird, right?_ He wasn’t good at this, but hell, his friends had been telling him the same thing all day and he was pretty sure none of them wanted to bang him, so this shouldn’t be obvious or anything. Hopefully. _Shit._

Every second that ticked by made him less and less sure of that.

Then, finally, the response came. ‘That’s not any kind of advantage, since you do, too.’

All at once, the warmth still lingering on Yata’s face flared up to a kind of inferno. He stared down at the words for a long moment, processing the shock and the surprised pleasure that came with them. _He complimented me, right? Said I looked good._

Well, sorta… but considering this was Saruhiko, he’d take what he could get.

There was a grin on his face before he’d registered the change, a response to the burst of happiness at the back of his chest that was now spreading rapidly all the way through him. He thought he could even feel the tingling echo of it in his fingertips. It was weird but great, a feeling he hadn’t really experienced with his (very few) previous crushes.

Being noticed. Liked, even. Probably. As friends. But still.

‘got it, thanks!’


	8. Chapter 8

‘Plan an amazing date’.

The word ‘date’ sent a little jolt through Yata’s body, bouncing out from his chest as he read it off the board. He’d come out here early – before his opening shift – in the first place, full of energy and optimism after the previous day’s text conversations. This new challenge caused that pleasant high to splinter out into the anxiety and excitement he was starting to associate with his feelings for Saruhiko.

_A date…_ He’d never been on one, much less planned one himself – it was part of the coveted realm of people who had romantic options, which he’d kinda given up on a while back. Still, it wasn’t like he hadn’t sometimes wondered what it might be like.

Knees touching under the table at a restaurant… brushing hands when reaching into a shared popcorn bag at the movies… walking home together at night, slowly… the possibility of lingering at the doorway for a goodnight ki…

Yata shook his head frantically, trying to clear out those thoughts before he got too flustered. He could already feel the uncomfortable warmth climbing up his face and the fluttering stirring up in his stomach. _Gotta stay cool, c’mon!_

To win this challenge, he was going to have to go on a date. Or, not just go on one, but _plan_ one. An amazing one. Better than one that Saruhiko might plan.

_Saruhiko…_

The flustered feeling was back. Yata swallowed, feeling his pulse race. That was the part that made this situation difficult. The truth was, even though they were competing over it, the person he’d want to go on a date with in the first place was his opponent. Which was kind of weird.

Well, maybe not that weird. _Of course I’d want to go on a date with the person I like! That’s normal, after all!_ But to just outright ask about it…

It wasn’t like he was scared or anything. Maybe kinda nervous, but not _scared_. Yata scowled at the board for a moment, shifting his skateboard restlessly with his foot as he considered the problem. He just didn’t really get this dating and romance stuff, doubly so when it came to asking out another guy, and tripled with Saruhiko being his opponent in a challenge to _plan an amazing date_. It made his head hurt just trying to sort out what he was supposed to do.

If he did it wrong, things would get awkward, right?

Hell, it wasn’t likely Saruhiko even wanted to date him in the first place.

That thought was enough to dampen his spirits. _Right, well, we are both guys._ It kinda helped to think of it that way. Saruhiko was probably straight. That was it. Not like there was anything he could do about _that_. Nothing against him personally, right?

Right…

Still, he couldn’t see Saruhiko as the type to have a ton of dating options lined up. He was beautiful, yeah, but his attitude sucked and he was fussy about all kinds of things. You really had to get to know him before he’d show his good sides, and it was hard to do that with when he seemed to have no interest in getting to know anyone in the first place.

Actually, this was the kind of challenge he could imagine Saruhiko clicking his tongue at and saying ‘what a pain’ with that disgusted expression on his face. Yata couldn’t help but grin a little just thinking about it. _Yeah, he totally would!_

If that was the case, then there wasn’t anything wrong with helping each other out, was there?

The more he thought about that, the better it sounded. They didn’t have to be a couple to go on a date or two, right? And there was no limit to how many dates you could do in a day. One of them could plan an afternoon date, and the other could plan an evening date – or something like that. It’d just be two friends helping each other out.

… Helping each other out in a competition where they were opponents – but whatever. They’d done it on Sunday with the ice cream thing, so it couldn’t be that big a deal.

And, well… Yata rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed about it. Okay, maybe he would’ve liked to date Saruhiko for real, but that probably wouldn’t ever happen anyway. This way, he’d at least get a taste of what it _might_ be like, and things didn’t have to get awkward.

It was perfect, really.

With that figured out, Yata shifted his foot on his board and kicked off, the grin on his face widening as excitement churned in his stomach. The day ahead was already looking awesome!

 

* * *

 

 

The day ahead was already looking bleak.

Fushimi stepped through the door into his workplace, deliberately ignoring Hidaka’s overly cheery, “Morning, Fushmi-san!” from the greeter’s desk as he made his way past. If anything, his mood felt blacker than the day before.

It didn’t particularly bother him that Misaki had won the last challenge, but it did bother him that he couldn’t be confident of his own motivation for making that call in the first place. His co-workers had supported the idea of taking it to a vote, though he wasn’t sure how anyone expected that to work, considering how clearly biased everyone was about the entire business. Homra would vote for Yata, and Scepter 4 would vote for him, based on some ridiculous idea about supporting ‘their’ candidate, as if this pointless campaign were some kind of mark of team pride. Given that there were more members in Scepter 4’s café unit, there wasn’t much doubt that any kind of vote would fall in his favor.

That notion had rankled, and handing the victory over to Misaki had seemed like the best way to respond to it. At the time, Fushimi hadn’t thought particularly hard about _why_ it had seemed so offensive. It had been simple enough to attribute the sour taste it left in his mouth to not wanting a victory under those unfairly slanted conditions.

Munakata had shot him one of those infuriatingly knowing smiles, but hadn’t commented.

On the bus heading back to his apartment, Fushimi had idly skimmed back through the text conversation and re-opened the picture that Misaki had sent him, and it had stirred up the same ache from before. With that confusing mix of fascination and longing rushing through him, he’d started to feel a lot less certain about the reason he’d acknowledged his opponent’s win.

If he really was letting infatuation cloud his judgment, that was going to be an issue. It was particularly alarming because he hadn’t noticed it at the time, and wasn’t even sure now if that was the actual reason.

Fushimi clicked his tongue as he walked past the empty desks at the front, thoroughly disgusted with himself. _I need to find a way to manage this properly._ He couldn’t afford any kind of distraction. After yesterday’s debacle, he and Misaki were tied, and if he wasn’t thinking clearly, the possibility of losing was going to increase.

Feelings or not, he wanted to avoid that outcome at all costs.

He was still a few paces away from the door to the back room when the jingle behind him announced someone entering the building. Hidaka’s professionally cheerful voice chimed in shortly after. “Welc – ! Oh! Morning, Yata!”

That was enough to make him freeze for an instant, feeling like ice had just been poured through his veins. Behind him, Fushimi heard the familiar boisterous voice respond, “Hey!” and then before he had time to decide whether he wanted to retreat to the back room or not, that same voice called out, “Oi! Saruhiko!”

_Figures._ Trying to brush aside the blend of apprehension and excitement that had spun to life in response, Fushimi clicked his tongue again, turning back. “What?”

Misaki was smiling brightly at him, evidently in high spirits, which was simultaneously appealing and annoying – Fushimi wasn’t entirely sure if the ‘annoying’ part was in response to the ‘appealing’ part or if it was just irritating in the same way that a co-worker being this cheerful early in the morning could be. This was the first time they’d seen each other in person since his realization on Sunday, and he was painfully aware that some uncontrolled part of him reacted to Misaki’s presence with the kind of pleasure that an addict might feel when given access to whatever they craved. There was a kind of indignity to it that he resented on a conscious level.

And then, of course, there was also the fact that Misaki had undoubtedly seen the challenge already, and with that fact added to the rest of this equation, his attitude was even more irritating.

_That puts him in a good mood, huh?_

“What’s with that response?” Misaki shook his head, his expression indicating a kind of rueful amusement rather than irritation. “You saw the challenge, right, Saruhiko? That’s why you’re in such a pissy mood, huh?”

The certainty in his tone was even more annoying. Fushimi frowned back, not bothering to step up towards the front. “If that’s all you’re here to talk about, I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Misaki brushed that aside, either ignoring or just disregarding the lack of enthusiasm on Fushimi’s part. His eyes were bright, almost eager. “Anyway, that means you don’t already have a date then, right?”

_What’s the point of even asking?_ Fushimi clicked his tongue, frown deepening. “You expected me to have something lined up already? I saw the challenge less than ten minutes ago.”

He got a brief moment of satisfaction from seeing the smile on Misaki’s face shift to a disgruntled frown. “Yeah, okay, I get that, but I mean… you don’t have some convenient person to ask or anything like that. Do you?”

There was a faint edge of uncertainty in the last bit that softened a little of Fushimi’s irritation. He stepped forward cautiously, meeting Misaki’s expectant gaze with a certain amount of wariness. “What are you trying to get at?”

“Right! Thought so!” The smile was back, wide and faintly relieved-looking. Misaki shifted a bit with impatience or self-consciousness – or maybe both. “Me too. So, y’know, I thought maybe we’d help each other out. Kinda like with the ice-cream.” He reached up to scratch at the back of his head. “What d’you think?”

“’Help each other’,” Fushimi repeated, tonelessly. His mind was already quickly processing the offer, with all of its implications. _He’s suggesting that we go on a date._ The immediate reaction to that thought was a skin-tingling rush of excitement. The immediate reaction to _that reaction_ was utter disgust.

_Don’t be stupid. It wouldn’t be an actual date – this doesn’t mean anything._

The myriad issues with the suggestion were beginning to surface now that he’d reminded himself of that significant fact. Fushimi could feel the headache building at his temples before he’d even grasped all of them. Going on a ‘fake date’ with Misaki while harboring real feelings for him? It sounded like the plot of a bad drama. The idea of playing pretend like that was unappealing on just about every level; it left a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it. _Useless._

Less than useless, in fact. It was potentially detrimental if his suspicions about yesterday’s challenge were accurate. If he couldn’t trust himself not to let his own feelings lead him into bad decisions, he could lose this challenge based on that alone. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t end up conceding to Misaki again for frivolous reasons that he didn’t even recognize himself in the heat of the moment.

The possibility of losing the entire competition due to falling for his opponent was repugnant.

Still, he wasn’t about to voice any of that – not when he had the option to keep this on a practical level in the first place. “How do you expect that to work, exactly?”

“Eh?” Misaki blinked at him, as if that question hadn’t occurred to him when he thought up this half-baked plan. “What d’you mean?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. _Of course he didn’t think this through._ “We’re competing here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Misaki shifted impatiently, eyebrows knitting together as if Fushimi’s reaction was incomprehensible to him. “Yeah, right, but it’d still work if we did two dates. Each of us could plan one.” He brightened up again, as if that somehow solved anything about this. “That’s the point, right? ‘Plan an amazing date’? We’d both get it done!”

One of Fushimi’s eyebrows twitched involuntarily. _How does that make anything easier? You’d have to deal with two dates instead of one._ If they were real dates… But then, there was no point in thinking about that. He directed back a flat gaze and went with the more logical objection. “How do you plan to decide who the winner is?”

Once again, the response seemed to catch Misaki off-guard; he offered a baffled look in return. “Huh? What’s that s’posed to mean?” He braced his hands on his hips, frowning back. “Same as every other challenge, right?”

_He doesn’t get it._ Fushimi had a feeling he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Don’t be an idiot. You think the two of us are going to come to an agreement on whose date was better?” He raised an eyebrow for emphasis. “Or did you expect to have a bunch of friends tag along and spy on us to sort that out?”

The sudden widening of Misaki’s eyes and the way he caught his breath sharply showed that previously lacking understanding. “Ah! W-well…” He seemed to struggle for words, momentarily trapped by the piece of logic. “No – I mean, not that – just – y’know – we – we could figure something out, right?” He finally managed to sputter out something comprehensible, eyebrows knitting together and lips setting into a stubborn frown. “It can’t be that big a – ”

“Why should we have to?” Fushimi cut him off, frowning right back. This was getting ridiculous. He turned to face Hidaka, who had his head tilted awkwardly to the side as if he were trying to pretend he wasn’t listening in on the entire conversation. “Hidaka. You’re available tonight, aren’t you?”

“Eh?” That prompted a very obvious jerk; Hidaka turned his head sharply, staring back at Fushimi with clear apprehension. “Uh… well… I guess…?”

“Good.” That should more or less settle things. “In that case, be my date.”

Hidaka goggled back at him, momentarily shocked; there was a brief second of cutting silence.

“Er…” After the initial surprise, he seemed to recover, shrugging his shoulders up in a short, awkward gesture of acceptance. “Y-yeah, I guess… I could.” He turned his gaze almost apologetically in Misaki’s direction.

Fushimi chose to ignore that; it was irritating, either way. “That’s settled then.”

Misaki’s swift, sharp intake of breath sounded almost painful. When Fushimi turned back to face him, there was a stunned look on his face. Almost as soon as their eyes met, it seemed to twist into an expression so hurt that it struck right to Fushimi’s core, with an unexpected intensity. Some of his certainty wavered; in that instant, he had the urge to do _something_ , though he wasn’t sure what. Reach out? Offer reassurance, maybe?

_As if I know how to do something like that…_

And then Misaki’s eyebrows came down into a fierce glare, lips turning down into a scowl, and that small moment shattered into something more familiar.

“Yeah, fine!” Misaki snarled, drawing himself up as if to try and bring his own reaction under control. His eyes had a suspicious waver to them. “Go ahead and date whoever – see if I care!” He spun on his heel and just about plowed into a startled-looking Akiyama in his haste to get through the door. Without slowing, he sidestepped and bulled on through, leaving it to slam shut angrily in his wake.

Akiyama stared after him for a brief moment and then turned his gaze up towards Fushimi and Hidaka, clearly baffled. “Did something happen?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. That brief instant when Misaki’s expression registered hurt had unnerved him; he could still see those expressive, devastated eyes clearly in his mind, and the image was feeding into that edge of uncertainty he couldn’t seem to shake. It was irritating. And confusing. He didn’t think he’d made the wrong choice, but…

_Well, never mind._

“Nothing important,” he responded flatly, before Hidaka could take that up, and turned to head toward the back again, deliberately pushing those thoughts from his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Yata didn’t even realize he was clenching his teeth until he kicked off and the vibrations rattled them; he made an effort to relax, narrowing his eyes, and willed the hurt welling up in his chest to fade.

He didn’t get why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like he’d asked Saruhiko out for real. Who cared if he just looked all annoyed when he got the offer? And seriously, _who cared_ if he’d rather go on a date with his co-worker than with Yata? What was so special about that Hidaka guy, anyway?

… Aside from the fact that he was tall, and super good looking, and friendly, and probably smart too, since he was working at that place…

The blend of frustration, irritation, and hurt seemed to spread out from Yata’s chest, making him feel restless and uneasy. He pushed off the ground harder, trying to pick up more speed, executing a couple of jumps without thinking to try and purge some of that from his body.

It felt like he already knew why this felt so shitty – why it seemed like a rejection even though all of Saruhiko’s objections had been practical and logical. That reason was there, hanging out at the back of his head, not quite touching his conscious thought. Just out of reach.

_Goddamnit…_ Yata clenched his teeth again, feeling like anger was surging through his veins. It was a familiar sensation, one he’d used to drive himself back in the day, but he was getting better at figuring his head out these days. He wasn’t angry at Saruhiko – he was angry at himself. Angry for just assuming his stupid offer would be enough. Angry for having expectations. Angry for not being able to figure out a damn thing about any of this.

Angry for being hurt when he shouldn’t have been dumb enough to expect more in the first place.

Approaching Homra, Yata let himself coast forward, stepping back to come to a halt in front of the door. As he picked up his board and reached for the handle, the realization that had been hovering in his mind struck him all at once, and he had to take a moment to calm down, tipping his head forward to lean against the door as he focused on catching the breath that lodged in his throat.

_If he’s okay with dating a guy, why wasn’t I good enough?_

It was a stupid question – ‘pointless’, Saruhiko would’ve said. This wasn’t even a real date, so who cared? Plus, there were tons of reasons that had nothing to do with him. Still… _Shit. Just forget it._ Yata forced himself to let it go, leaning back with a soft, irritated ‘ch’ and deliberately pulling the door open to step inside. “Yo.”

“Morning, Yata-san!” came the response, almost immediately. The typical jovial tone of Kamamoto’s voice came out in a strange – but still hauntingly familiar – pitch and timbre.

_Fuck._ For a moment, Yata froze right there at the door, halfway inside, his skin prickling up unpleasantly. _It’s that time already?_

As if this shitty day wasn’t bad enough already…

A little pit of annoyance was forming in his stomach, suspicion forming into cold certainty as he remembered the date and the recent weather change. Yata raised his eyes, bracing himself for what he knew he’d see – this happened every year, and it still pissed him off each time – and didn’t bother to hold back the scowl when he took in the wide smile on that disgustingly handsome face.

Kamamoto’s “summer phenomenon” was probably the worst thing about the season.

_It shouldn’t even be fucking possible, goddamnit!_

Even as that thought was running through his head, Kamamoto blinked at him, and the smile started to fade into more of a concerned frown. “What’s up? You look kinda out of it.”

Yata had to fight not to snap back, trying to swallow his annoyance and bad mood. “Nothing, forget it.” It came out churlish despite his best efforts, but whatever. He was getting better at that shit, but there were limits. Letting out an agitated sigh, he crossed the room and lifted the counter to move behind it.

“F’you say so.” Kamamoto was still eyeing him dubiously, but didn’t make a fuss over it. “Oh yeah, hey, sorry I missed the challenge yesterday – how’d it go?”

That was another reminder he could do without – thinking about yesterday made him think about how Saruhiko had looked, and then their text conversation and that compliment… _Shit._ Yata moved to slouch over the front counter, scowling across the room. “I won, if that’s what you wanna know.”

“Really? That’s great, then!” Kamamoto’s voice was overly cheery – as if he were trying to cheer Yata up. _Not right now, goddamnit…_ “So what’s today’s challenge? Can I help ya out?”

Yata turned his head just enough to fix his friend with a narrow look. With everything else, he’d almost forgotten that he needed to get himself a date, too. Honestly, it’d be better with a friend – kinda weird, but it wasn’t like he had many options. He wasn’t gonna be able to ask out some random person. Plus, Kamamoto was a pal – he’d do it without teasing, so he really was the best guy to ask. Just…

_He had to be fucking “summer” mode today, didn’t he?_

Heaving another frustrated sigh, Yata straightened up and turned to offer a frown as an early defense against any bullshit. “Got plans tonight?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was nearly seven by the time Fushimi had wrapped up the work he wanted to get done that day. He’d had to make two field outings and fix several reports in between the code he was making adjustments to for a particularly sensitive task, which was distracting, but he wasn’t unhappy with the progress he’d made.

_If I didn’t have this annoying thing to take care of, I could’ve stayed later._

In the end, he really had made the right call in turning down Misaki’s offer – not that he’d doubted it. Fushimi considered that as he locked his workstation and stood up. There was no way he’d have had time to go on _two_ dates, with everything else going on. It was irritating enough to have to deal with just the one.

Still… If it had been Misaki waiting for him out in the front…

_That’s not worth dwelling on, is it?_

Almost everyone else had already left – those who weren’t working the late shift in the café itself, anyway – and the room was quiet. Fushimi hadn’t brought a jacket, so he picked up his phone, briefly checked for messages – nothing, not that he’d expected otherwise – and tucked it into his pocket before heading out through the door.

Hidaka was waiting for him up at the front, chatting with Goto, who was manning the desk. He broke that off when he noticed Fushimi approaching, offering something of an awkward smile. “Oh, Fushimi-san – you’re all done?”

“More or less.” As done as he expected to be, considering the time restriction. “Let’s go, then.”

“R-right! Later, Goto!”

“Have fun.”

Fushimi resisted the urge to click his tongue at that. _Fun on a forced date?_ Basically, they were both in this situation out of obligation. Hidaka was doing him a favor, and he was trying to win a challenge. The company was bearable, at least, but he didn’t particularly expect to have any kind of ‘fun’.

“So?” Hidaka offered him a small, encouraging smile once they were out of the building. He was still in his work shirt, but he’d loosened the collar and rolled up the sleeves. “Where are we going?”

The sun was setting, but there was still plenty of light and the weather had warmed up enough that the temperature was mild. According to what Fushimi had read online during his breaks, it was the perfect atmosphere for a date.

Not that he was exactly trying to create _atmosphere_ , but anything that could work to his advantage was welcome.

As far as location, opinions on the subject had been divided. Some favored formal settings such as fancy restaurants and expensive entertainment, while others enthused more about casual, easygoing setups with walks in the park and light, outdoor dining.

Dinner had been ordered in at work, though, so having a meal was actually out.

That had eliminated quite a few of the options offered, which was irritating, but in the end, Fushimi had been able to put together a workable plan. He wasn’t entirely pleased with what had inspired his starting point, but it didn’t matter in the end, as long as he could win.

Fleetingly, he wondered what kind of date Misaki had planned…

_Don’t worry about useless things._ Fushimi resisted the urge to click his tongue. “Just down the street,” he said, in response to Hidaka’s question, and moved to lead him on. “An ice-cream parlor called Hakumaitou.”

It had been mistaken for a date location before, so there was no question that it qualified, at least.

“Oh, that place!” Hidaka seemed optimistic about it, which was a promising sign. He caught up to Fushimi easily enough, falling into step beside him. “I see it all the time on the way in to work, but I’ve never actually been inside – have you, Fushimi-san?”

The sudden and unwelcome memory of Misaki’s grin, with ice-cream smeared beneath his bottom lip, surfaced in Fushimi’s mind. He closed his eyes, willing it back down. “Once.”

“I see…” Hidaka sounded a bit awkward; when he spoke again, it was in an overly earnest tone. “Was it good?”

“I guess.” To be honest, he didn’t particularly remember how the ice-cream had tasted.

“Oh.” For a moment, it seemed like Hidaka had run out of conversation points, but after that brief silence, he plowed onward again. “Well, coming from you, that’s probably high enough praise, huh, Fushimi-san?”

At that, he did click his tongue, frowning. “What are you getting at?”

“Ahaha… Nothing, never mind…”

Hakumaitou’s closing time was nine on weekdays, so there was no reason to rush, but Kuroh was working again, and the watchful look that set on his face when his eyes met Fushimi’s indicated that the recognition went both ways. His partner behind the counter, a bright-eyed girl with a mischievous, almost catlike smile, took their orders but left the actual scooping to him, humming cheerfully to herself as she waited by the till to collect payment.

Despite protests, Fushimi paid for both orders, and he was feeling cautiously optimistic about the start of the date when they moved to go outside and nearly ran into the pair coming in.

“Whoa, my bad!” a boisterous voice greeted him, and the familiar prickle started spreading along Fushimi’s skin even before he raised his gaze and met the fierce amber eyes he’d expected. “Sorry about – ”

Misaki’s apology cut off partway, his intake of breath sharp as he stared back at Fushimi in silence for a moment, eyes widening. “Sa… Saruhiko!” he blurted out, after that split second had passed. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

_Of all the people…_ Fushimi clicked his tongue, breaking the stare they’d been exchanging to glance off to the side. The sight – and sound – of Misaki was having its usual inconvenient effect on his stomach and heart rate, and he didn’t need that right then. “What do you think? Same as you.”

“O-oh.” Misaki swallowed audibly. “Right.” There was something of a strain in his voice; it sounded considerably more subdued when he continued. “Yeah, of course... makes sense…”

It was difficult to resist the urge to look at his face and get a read of whatever expression had come with that tone, but Fushimi wasn’t keen on any potential distractions at this point. He’d suffered enough of that already – and there was always the possibility of his motives being compromised, considering everything. He turned his gaze up and past Misaki instead, expecting to see one of the various Homra staff members acting as a stand-in date.

The actual sight in front of him brought his thoughts to what felt like a screaming halt.

The natural assumption had been that Misaki would follow his example and take along a friend or co-worker, but it was clear now that this had been a logical error on Fushimi’s part. It hadn’t occurred to him that Misaki might have admirers or other prospects of any sort, although in retrospect, it probably should have. If he could be attracted, so could anyone else, in theory. But there were enough signs pointing to that _not_ being the case – the fact that Misaki had brought up the idea of dating each other, for example – that Fushimi hadn’t even considered the possibility.

But here was Misaki, on a _date_ , and that cool, handsome, _smiling_ face and well-proportioned body did not belong to anyone Fushimi recognized as working at Homra.

_So, who…?_

The guy seemed to notice he was being studied, and reached up to pull his sunglasses down on his nose, revealing a pair of startling, red-toned eyes – vaguely familiar eyes, in fact. “Yo, Fushimi – long time no – ”

Misaki elbowed his date in the side with clear agitation; when Fushimi finally looked down at him, his expression was irritable. “Let’s go,” he muttered crossly, reaching out to grab the guy’s shirt roughly and drag him into the building.

His eyes were set forward; he didn’t look at or say anything to Fushimi as he passed.

Hidaka shifted uncomfortably, abruptly reminding Fushimi of his presence and the intended purpose of this outing. “Are we still heading out?” he asked, a bit awkwardly.

All that effort to avoid distraction, and it had still happened. Fushimi shot one last glance over his shoulder – neither Misaki nor his attractive date were looking their way – before clicking his tongue sharply and turning to push through the door again. “We’re going,” he responded, flatly.

It wasn’t his business what kind of person Misaki would take on a date. Fushimi narrowed his eyes, frown deepening as he stepped outside. The side of the gated area where they’d sat on Sunday had evidently been painted recently, and was currently blocked off, so he led the way to one of the tables on the other side. His only real point of interest was how that person had seemed to recognize him, and why those eyes had seemed familiar despite everything else about him being unrecognizable. That was all.

Misaki’s actions towards him had been so casual and comfortable…

That was a useless thought to hold onto. _Never mind_ , Fushimi told himself irritably, taking the seat that faced the door. His ice-cream was already starting to melt in its cup – it reminded him of two days ago, and his brain took that as a cue to call up the memory of how Misaki’s tongue had looked lapping up a line of melted chocolate. A shivery feeling that was partially tinged with frustration and dissatisfaction ran along his entire frame.

Honestly, he was tired of feeling like this. Didn’t it ever stop?

“You all right, Fushimi-san?” Hidaka was giving him a look of mild concern from across the table, spoon poised just above his cup. “You look a little out of it.”

Fushimi resisted the urge to click his tongue again, reminding himself of exactly what this challenge was about. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. “It’s nothing.”

“If you say so…” Hidaka craned his neck back to try and peer through the glass into the shop. “Who was that guy with Yata? Someone from Homra?”

“How should I know?” Fushimi snapped back peevishly before he could manage to stop himself. He let out a short, agitated breath when his date turned back, forcing himself back under control. “If he is, I’ve never seen him before.”

Hidaka frowned in response, looking puzzled. “It seemed like he knew you, though…”

_I’m aware of that._ It was annoying too – his memory didn’t normally fail him, so the familiarity was baffling. “You’d have to ask him if you want the answer to that.”

“Ah.” He got a bit of an apprehensive grin; Hidaka looked about ready to say something else, but was interrupted by the door bursting open behind him, the sound of the chime almost lost in the sudden explosion of loud voices.

“ – _always_ get a fucking triple scoop, so what’s the deal?”

“Yata-san – ”

“It’s not like I can’t afford it – I’m working full time now, so don’t hold back on me, got it?” Misaki swung his ice-cream nearly into his date’s face, mouth set in a pugnacious frown. Now that there was some distance, it was possible to notice that he was dressed differently from that morning – rather than the usual loose shirt and shorts, he’d changed into a pair of three-quarter-length green pants and layered a short-sleeved collared black shirt over a red T-shirt. Everything in the outfit actually seemed to fit properly, which contrasted enough with Misaki’s usual style to give the distinct impression of ‘dressing up’. “My treat means _my treat_ – I’m not gonna lose ’cause you’re looking down on me!”

“I know, I know! Calm down, Yata-san.” The other man held out his hands in a placating manner, a rueful sort of half-smile on his face, as if he was used to this behavior. “I don’t get that hungry in the summer, ya know…”

“Yeah, yeah, _summer_.” Misaki let out what sounded like a heavily frustrated sigh, reaching up with his free hand to scratch at the back of his head. “Not sure if I should be grateful or what… I’d probably go broke feeding you otherwise.”

“Eh… well…” The guy grinned sheepishly, scratching at his cheek. “That’s just… y’know…”

Something about the interaction seemed to curdle whatever was in Fushimi’s stomach. It occurred to him that Misaki might not have bothered to change if he’d agreed to the original plan – there likely wouldn’t have been time for it if they’d had to manage two dates, granted, but the fact remained that he’d taken the time to look nice for the person he was with _now_. Was it to make an impression? If this was just a friend, there wouldn’t have been a need, would there? It wasn’t like an _amazing_ date required fancy dressing.

And then there was this causal banter – not to mention the way Misaki had grabbed his date’s clothing earlier. It was as if the two of them were already more than comfortable with that level of contact and interaction.

Fushimi deliberately turned his eyes away, frowning down at his ice-cream as he jabbed the spoon in without much enthusiasm. _They’re equally matched as idiots, huh?_

The thought didn’t give him as much satisfaction as he might’ve expected.

“Well, whatever – let’s grab a seat,” Misaki was saying with the usual rough enthusiasm. “That side’s closed, so – geh!”

Fushimi glanced up at the comically dismissed outburst without properly thinking about it, and his eyes met Misaki’s for a brief second. There was a charged feeling in the air between them, like a particularly strong sense of anticipation. Heightened awareness, even. It didn’t last long. Just before looking away, Fushimi caught the rising color on Misaki’s cheeks – a compliment to the embarrassed agitation in his expression as he jerked his own gaze to the side.

That brief moment of contact had sparked up the confused longing all over again. Fushimi twisted his spoon deliberately in his ice-cream. It was sickening.

“Yata-san?” the other guy questioned, sounding mildly concerned. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” There was a defensive edge to Misaki’s voice. He let out a soft, frustrated-sounding ‘ch’. “Just… c’mon, we’re sitting here.”

Given that there were a grand total of two tables on the only side that was currently open, it didn’t take much interpretation to determine where ‘here’ would be. Fushimi lifted his spoon and took a bite without looking as seats were pulled out at the table next to theirs. He could barely taste the flavor.

Across from him, Hidaka shifted and then leaned forward, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the mood had taken. “This place has pretty good ice-cream, doesn’t it?”

Fushimi lifted his gaze and found himself the subject of an awkward but earnest smile. It was hard to tell if it was an effort to get past the moment or a clumsy attempt at comfort. He settled for a noncommittal shrug in response. “I guess.”

A derisive snort from beside them interrupted any further attempts at stilted conversation. “Dunno how you can even tell without a cone,” Misaki’s voice muttered.

That was enough to draw Fushimi’s gaze, but, surprisingly, Misaki wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was frowning at Hidaka, eyes narrowed. The tables were set up right next to each other with the chairs lined up evenly, and Misaki had for some reason chosen the seat next to Fushimi’s date.

Which, of course, meant that Fushimi was sitting next to _his_ date. _How annoying._ He clicked his tongue, deliberately not looking in that direction. The man’s smooth good looks left a sour taste in his mouth. “I don’t remember anyone asking for your input.”

Misaki’s head jerked in his direction; the frown shifted to a scowl. “Shut up! I already know you’re a fussy bastard – what’s this guy’s excuse, huh?” He jabbed his thumb roughly in Hidaka’s direction. “Is your whole workplace like that?”

There was melted ice-cream dribbling down over his other hand, which Fushimi found ironic, considering the subject at hand. He pushed back the more awkward feelings without too much difficulty, raising an eyebrow in return. “Believe it or not, I haven’t taken the time to ask everyone I work with about their ice-cream habits.”

He got a disgruntled look in response. “Yeah, right, I forgot you’re that grumpy guy who never wants to hang out with anyone.” As he was speaking, Misaki’s date reached out to casually pluck a napkin from the open tray on their table and held it out to him. Absently, as if out of habit, Misaki took it from him and wiped his hand, still frowning at Fushimi as he added, “Shoulda figured!”

_What exactly was that supposed to be?_ Fushimi curled his lip with disgust, a sinking sort of feeling forming at the pit of his stomach. He turned his gaze back to his nearly untouched cup again to avoid Misaki’s eyes. “I don’t need that sort of thing.”

“Fushimi-san does hang out with us sometimes, though,” Hidaka chimed in suddenly. His voice had taken on that earnest tone again; when Fushimi risked a glance up at him, he offered a small smile. “Not off the clock or anything, but we’ve had some good times, right, Fushimi-san?”

That… may have been true – at least partially – but it was still embarrassing when he came right out and said it like that. Fushimi stared back, nonplussed. “… Define ‘good times’,” he muttered after a brief moment of hesitation, fighting back the mixture of irritation and the tiny, reluctantly acknowledged bit of surprised pleasure.

Honestly, forming relationships of any kind was a pain.

Hidaka looked a little surprised for a moment, then grinned back warmly.

There was a strange noise from beside them – almost a mix between a crackle and a kind of wet slopping – and the man beside Fushimi let out an alarmed, “Y-Yata-san!”

When he glanced over, it turned out that Misaki had crushed his cone in his fist.

_… What?_

He wasn’t the only surprised one; Misaki blinked a couple of times and then stared down at his hand, eyebrows knitting together with perplexity. The remains of ice-cream and cone were seeping out between his tightly clenched fingers.

_What the hell happened?_

“What happened?” Misaki’s date echoed his thoughts, sounding concerned. Fushimi shot him a narrow look. The worry appeared to be sincere, though there was a hint of what looked like apprehension on his face. “Something going on?”

For a second, Misaki just sat there, staring blankly at his hand, and then his eyebrows came down, mouth curling into a scowl. He let out a soft ‘ch’, then abruptly shoved his chair away from the table, tearing a napkin from the holder as he stood up. “Let’s get outta here,” he grumbled, instead of answering, and turned to brush the remains of his ice-cream off into the trash can.

“Huh?” His date sounded astonished. “But we just got he – H-hey! Wait up, Yata-san!”

Misaki was already marching purposefully through the gate, his face darker than a thundercloud. Fushimi followed the movement out of the edge of his vision even as the other man scrambled to follow, and their eyes met for a brief instant. There was something angry and desperate and somehow _hurt_ in that gaze, and it momentarily took his breath away.

_Misaki…?_

It was only for that one instant, and then Misaki was ducking his head and increasing his pace, mouth twisting into something like a pained grimace as he hunched forward. But even after he’d gone, it felt like Fushimi’s chest had constricted, and he still couldn’t quite breathe properly around the ache.

_What was that about?_

 

* * *

 

 

There was restless tension clinging to just about every muscle in Yata’s body, and he couldn’t seem to shake it just by walking. It hadn’t seemed right to bring his skateboard along on what was supposed to be a date – and he hadn’t wanted to screw up the ‘amazing’ part with that kind of fuck-up – but now he really wished he had, because feeling the wheels beneath his feet would’ve gone a long way towards quelling the hurt that had surged up along the back of his throat. He felt so frustrated.

All he could see in his head was Saruhiko looking up with that edge of wariness – that tiny little hint of cautious honesty – in his eyes, and it made him want to scream. Somehow or another, he’d tricked himself into thinking that was a look just for him; that no one else really got to see it. Seeing it directed at someone else had felt like a stab to the gut. He could still feel the bitterness twisting in his core even now.

_What the hell made you think you were so special, huh?_ Obviously Saruhiko had other people he’d opened up to. Obviously he’d known Hidaka longer, and was probably a lot closer to him. Obviously there was nothing between them outside of what Yata had built up in his own head. _Obviously._

It didn’t help that he’d probably made a big idiot of himself just now, too.

_Goddamnit…_

“Yata-san! Wait for a sec, will ya?” Despite the words, Kamamoto overtook him without too much effort, falling into stride beside him and peering at him with that concerned look over his sunglasses. “What’s gotcha so upset, anyway?”

He had to swallow the urge to snap back, recognizing the honest worry. “Nothing. Forget it.” Remembering at the last second that he was supposed to be on a _date_ , he let out a sharp, frustrated sigh and reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry ‘bout that. My bad.”

Kamamoto offered a smile and a shrug. “No big deal – don’t worry ‘bout it!” He tilted his head a bit, inquiringly. “So where to now?”

The immediate change of subject was a huge relief. Yata breathed out again, feeling some of the tension leave him, and managed a small, rueful smile in return. He did have a plan, at least – a pretty good one, actually. Better than that ice-cream disaster. “There’s this theme park at the end of the city block. Figured that’d be a good place for a date.”

“That’s a great idea!” Kamamoto agreed enthusiastically.

The reaction was definitely helping his confidence recover. Yata grinned back. “Right? Let’s go!”

He hadn’t actually been to the theme park – well, he’d skated past it once or twice running errands for Kusanagi, but hadn’t gotten around to going in. It was no fun going to a theme park by yourself anyway, and he kept forgetting to bring it up at Homra. Anna probably would’ve liked to go at least. The place wasn’t huge, but there was a large ferris wheel and a roller coaster, along with a few other interesting looking rides and places to win prizes.

Perfect place for a date, in Yata’s opinion.

After he’d bought their passes – way overpriced, but whatever – he did a quick scan of the grounds, looking for anything else that might make things seem more ‘date-like’. He’d already fucked up on the ice-cream thing, so he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes here.

_Ferris wheel, maybe?_ Yata frowned, considering it. That was probably the best bet for that ‘date’ atmosphere, and he didn’t see any other options so fa –

His eyes caught on the obnoxious pink heart design on an attraction near the edge of the park, and the bottom felt like it dropped out of his stomach.

_… fuck. Seriously?_

“Yata-san?” When he turned, Kamamoto was giving him a questioning look. “Got a ride you wanna go on?”

Okay. Whatever. He had this. “Yeah.” Yata straightened, steeling himself, and then pointed. “That one.”

There was a moment of silence as Kamamoto followed the line of his finger. It was impossible to mistake the attraction for anything but it was: the words ‘Tunnel of Love’ were printed in large, fancy print on the flashy-looking heart banner. “That… uh.” His expression was dubious when he turned to look Yata in the eye. “You sure?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Yata scowled back at him, feeling a little defensive over it.

Kamamoto raised his hands, as if expecting an attack. “Nothing, just…” He looked a bit apprehensive about it. “Y’know, there’s gonna be a lot of girls around…”

Urgh. He hadn’t thought of that. “Th-that’s…” Still, he was getting better at handling girls. He dealt with them all the time as customers. Hell, that old anxiety was probably mostly gone by now. “No big deal! I can handle it, okay? Let’s just go” – _get this over with_ – “do this.”

“Well, if you say so…” Kamamoto still looked a bit doubtful, but he accepted the words without question. “Sure you don’t wanna go on the roller coaster first or something?”

That was tempting. Really tempting. And, hell, it might help. “Yeah, okay, but just once.”

‘Once’ turned out to be ‘three times’. Yata’s adrenaline was running high and he was feeling great by the end of the third round – he would’ve probably put off the inevitable again for a fourth, but Kamamoto had huffed out something about ‘sitting this one out, sorry’ and when Yata took the time to look at him, his face was looking kind of grayish.

_It’s a date, remember?_ He swallowed his impatience, balling his hands into determined fists as he eyed the pink-gated tunnels from where they were standing. The boats floating leisurely in the water channels that looped through the gates were a lighter pink, their elaborate backs topped with heart-patterned carvings, culminating in a single, dimly lit lantern at the top of each one. It was kinda revolting. Still… _Gotta do this right._ “Yeah, got it. That’s enough.” Taking in a long breath, he drew himself up. “Let’s go.”

There weren’t as many girls as he’d thought, but there was definitely an _atmosphere_ in the line-up and with the people leaving the place. Yata could feel the discomfort settling across his shoulders in a solid line of tension even before he’d taken in everything. Nothing but _couples_. Hand-holding. Starry-eyed looks. Stuff that _really didn’t need to be in public, goddamnit_.

It was hard to take.

He didn’t really have time to dwell on that, though, because as they approached the line-up his eyes fell on the couple at the end of it, and another one of those vicious stab-to-the-gut feelings struck him.

“ _What the hell?_ ” It was out before he could hold it in, and for a second, he couldn’t even care, too dismayed to even be embarrassed about the stares he was drawing in. “Why are you here?”

Saruhiko’s expression was typically irritable when he turned, but there were traces of deeper frustration. His eyes narrowed as he met Yata’s gaze, and his frown deepened. “I should be asking you that.”

It was stupid how that soft mutter had his heartbeat spiking. Saruhiko looked the same as he had that morning – he hadn’t bothered to change for his date – but it didn’t really make a difference, as far as Yata was concerned. He looked good. He always looked good, with that blend of model-like good looks and unwelcoming posture and expression. It was impossibly endearing, in a way he never would’ve predicted at the start. It made his throat feel like it was closing up.

_Keep it together already!_

“Never woulda pegged you for a theme park kinda guy.” Actually, he was pretty positive of that – Saruhiko hated people, and this place was full of them. Plus, the sickeningly sweet atmosphere around the Tunnel of Love attraction was the kind of thing that would definitely get on Saruhiko’s nerves – at least as much as it was getting on Yata’s right then. _Yeah, and speaking of sickeningly sweet…_ He frowned at Hidaka, who was standing kind of awkwardly to the side. “You came for this guy’s sake, huh?”

The bitterness of that statement was hard to swallow, even if he was the one who’d said it.

“What are you going on about?” Saruhiko clicked his tongue, meeting Yata’s gaze flatly when it returned to him. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re in the middle of a challenge. A theme park is a decent choice for location.” Something seemed to shift in his eyes, as if his focus narrowed. “Anyway, I could ask the same of you – why are _you_ at an attraction like this, if it’s not for the sake of this stupid competition? Don’t tell me your _date_ prefers this kind of thing?”

The heavy derision in his voice had Yata’s hackles rising instinctively in response. “O-of course it’s for the challenge! What the hell are you trying to imply?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue again, turning his gaze off to the side. The downward curve of his lips made him look almost sullen. “Nothing.”

There was a brief second of charged silence; Yata was drawing himself up to fire back when Hidaka coughed lightly, offering a slightly strained smile when it drew attention to him. “Uh, by the way,” he offered, turning his eyes towards Kamamoto almost as if in a desperate attempt to change the focus of the conversation, “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Hidaka Akira.”

“Yeah, s’true.” Kamamoto shot back a winning smile, looking like a goddamn supermodel – if he wasn’t almost totally sure it was an unconscious thing, Yata might’ve punched him. “Nice to meet ya! Kamamoto Rikio here.”

Saruhiko made a startled little grunt – it was an unexpectedly cute noise – and Yata turned again to see his eyes widen with open surprise. “Kama – ” He stopped, and his eyes narrowed, expression an odd mix of baffled and suspicious. “You can’t be…”

Yata made a sharp ‘ch’, shooting a scowl at Kamamoto before turning back to Saruhiko. “Yeah, he’s the same _freak of nature_ you already met. He turns into that” – he hooked his thumb in his friend’s direction – “in the summer.”

Kamamoto met Saruhiko’s incredulous gaze with a sheepish grin. “Sorry for the confusion!”

One of Saruhiko’s eyebrows twitched, his lip curling down in what looked like a mix of disgust and disbelief. It was a surprisingly expressive look for him. “That isn’t even physically possible…”

Yata heaved a frustrated sigh, scratching at the back of his head. “Yeah, tell it to _him_.”

Hidaka was glancing between the three of them with an openly baffled look. “Did… did I miss something?” he asked after a second, a bit hesitantly.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, looking thoroughly irritated. “Nothing important.”

“Got that right,” Yata agreed, with just as much heartfelt frustration.

Their eyes met, and that now-familiar ping struck against Yata’s heart. He swallowed, trying not to let the feeling get the best of him. “So,” he started, and felt an embarrassed warmth creep up on his face at how awkward it sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How’s – how’s your date going?”

There was more of that cautious wariness in Saruhiko’s eyes, but some of the defensiveness seemed to have softened out of them. “Fine.” There was a moment of hesitation, and then he asked, drawing the words out slowly, “What about yours?”

There was no way to tell if that ‘fine’ meant ‘fine, except that I want to kill myself and end it’ or ‘fine, and I’m madly in love with my date’. Yata gave up trying to figure it out, offering back a short, jerky shrug. “Yeah, mine’s going pretty good, too.”

Saruhiko’s mouth gave the tiniest little twitch, almost impossible to catch. “Ah.”

_The fuck’s that supposed to mean?_

“Uh, so… Kamamoto, right?” Hidaka took a step out of the line – which had moved forward again, putting them closer to where the boats stopped to pick up passengers – and made a little ‘c’mon’ gesture to the man in question. “Can we talk for a bit?”

“Eh?” Kamamoto blinked, glanced at first Yata and then Saruhiko, and shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Yata stared after them as they moved off a ways, feeling his eyebrows furrow. “What the hell?” he muttered, scowling. “Didn’t they _just_ meet? What do they have to talk about?”

It was weird, no matter how you looked at it.

“Good question,” Saruhiko murmured. When Yata turned to look at him, he was eyeing the pair with narrowed eyes, frowning.

Yata huffed out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Better be a good reason.”

“Maybe they’re planning to run off together.” The suggestion came in that lilting drawl; when Yata glanced over, surprised, he found a small, sardonic smile on Saruhiko’s lips. His attention was still on Hidaka and Kamamoto, talking animatedly off to the side. “Neither of us would be able to finish the challenge in that case, would we?”

Weirdly enough, he sounded… kinda happy about that.

The obvious response leaped up to the back of Yata’s throat – and then stuck there, momentarily paralyzed by the rejection from that morning. He tried to swallow back the hesitation, watching Saruhiko’s face for clues that he probably wouldn’t have been able to figure out in the first place. _What the hell, right? Not like I didn’t already say it once._ “We could… y’know… We could finish it together.” It came out in a nervous mutter; he hastily added, “Or something,” feeling his face start to heat up again.

Totally uncool…

Saruhiko blinked once, and then turned his head, meeting Yata’s halfway-embarrassed gaze. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t seem to have that hostile edge from earlier that day. Yata couldn’t place the tiny hint of emotion lurking in them. His stomach was in knots and his palms were clammy.

He’d braced himself for it, but so far there was no rejection. _So, maybe…_

“Sorry ‘bout that!” Kamamoto’s boisterous voice cut into the moment, jerking Yata’s attention back to him. He was standing beside them again, looking pretty pleased with himself for some reason. “Had to sort something out. Didn’t keep you waiting, did we?”

“This is a line-up,” Saruhiko reminded him dryly, before Yata could snap back at him. “We’re already waiting.” He turned his gaze on Hidaka. “What ‘something’ were you sorting out, exactly?”

“Oh. Sorry, Fushimi-san.” Hidaka smiled back, a bit sheepishly. “I really can’t say.” He waved past them, tilting his head. “Looks like we’re just about at the front, though – come on.”

“Oi.” Yata turned a suspicious scowl on Kamamoto as they stepped forward to catch up with the line. “The hell was that about? Spill it.”

“Sorry, Yata-san. Can’t right now.” The smile he got back was apologetic. “I’ll tell ya later, okay?”

That _definitely_ sounded fishy, but there wasn’t a lot he could say to that. At least not while they were still on this date and he needed to be on his best behavior. Yata narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you’d better.”

They’d reached the base of the steps leading up to the boat launch. From here, Yata could see the setup clearly: couples disembarked just after coming out of the tunnel, and the boat floated around to the other side – right by the entrance – so that a new pair could board. The lights inside the tunnel had been strategically dimmed, soft flickering lamps set up around the sides to look like candles. The couple directly in front of Hidaka and Saruhiko had just been ushered in, and as they pushed off through the entrance, the tall, wide back of the boat effectively hid them from view.

Somehow, despite how stupid and cheesy all of this was, the idea of the two in front of him riding around in that dim tunnel together in one of those cramped little boats felt like it was twisting around in Yata’s stomach. He clenched his teeth, trying to will down that sour, unpleasant feeling. It was nearly dark out now too – the lights around the park were illuminated, and the atmosphere really kinda suited a Tunnel of Love ride. If you were into that sort of thing.

_He’s not into it, right?_

The next boat came around, and Hidaka waved an arm to indicate that Saruhiko should get in first. Yata shifted with agitation, one foot on the step in front of him as he waited for them to just hurry up and _go_. The sooner this was over with, the better.

The abrupt sound of a cell phone buzzing cut into that thought. Hidaka started and then reached into his pocket to retrieve the device, squinting at the call display for a moment. “Just one moment, Fushimi-san,” he said urgently and moved hastily aside, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hidaka here.”

Kamamoto nudged Yata in the side. “Next boat’s here, too – let’s go up.”

“Huh?” Yata frowned back. “Why? They haven’t even gone yet.”

“No harm getting ready, right?” Kamamoto shrugged. “C’mon.”

Yata squinted at him. There didn’t seem to be anything weird or out of place in his friend’s posture or expression; he got an easy smile back. It quelled a little of his doubt. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

The attendant at the top nodded at them when they stepped up, which was kinda reassuring. Saruhiko was already sitting in the first boat with his cell phone out; he looked up at them and raised an eyebrow when he noticed who it was.

Yata shrugged in response. _Yeah, don’t ask me._ He might’ve said it out loud, but there wasn’t really the chance, because in the next second, he received a particularly hard shove from behind, pushing him straight off the platform.

There was a shout of alarm from the attendant, but Yata barely heard it, scrambling to catch himself on something as he toppled onto the boat, his knees smacking hard against the wooden seat as his upper body landed on something soft.

Soft and _moving_ – and with a familiar voice. “Oi – !”

He hadn’t quite managed to recover from the shock when there was an abrupt push against the back of the boat, propelling them forward into the dim lighting of the tunnel.

“What the _fuck?_ ” Yata managed to get his hands under him, hastily lifting himself up. The boat rocked a little with the movement and he froze momentarily, trying to gather his wits.

The surface beneath his hands shifted. “Do you _mind_?” Saruhiko’s voice said sharply, sounding put out and just a tiny bit breathier than normal. “You’re not exactly light.”

“Huh?” Yata blinked, not quite processing that, and then raised his head and felt his heart just about stop.

He was halfway sprawled across Saruhiko’s lap, hands braced on his legs, and now with his head tilted up, they were just about nose-to-nose. He could feel more than hear the little hitch of breath from right in front of him; behind the dim outline of the glasses, those blue eyes widened. As it had before in the cellar, the lack of lighting seemed to accentuate the pale outline of Saruhiko’s face. With the warmer glow around them, the barest hint of color seemed to touch those pale cheeks, and the fine lines of lips, nose, eyes, and face structure were close enough that his fingers itched to reach out and trace them.

The sight had Yata momentarily mesmerized; he wanted more than anything to lean closer and bring them into contact, but the mixture of the view and the closeness had him struck still and dumb. He could barely breathe.

Saruhiko shifted again, blinking slowly, and Yata realized in a sudden panicked rush exactly what position they were in. “S-sorry!” he managed to stammer out, hastily scrambling over and off. His face felt like it was on fire, and every single one of his nerves was on edge as he shifted to properly sit in the other seat. “M-my bad!”

_He was so close…_ Now that it had started to beat again, his heart was racing like crazy too.

“It’s fine.” Saruhiko’s voice was even; when Yata chanced a glance at him, he was busily adjusting his glasses. “I guess this answers the question of what our so-called _dates_ were talking about.”

“Eh?” Yata stared at him for a second, still not quite over the rush of feelings, and then it clicked. “ _Hah?_ They – they set this up? Are you fucking kidding? _Why?_ ”

“How should I know?” Saruhiko clicked his tongue, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest in a vaguely defensive gesture. “Some kind of tasteless joke? Revenge for having to play along with this stupid challenge? You tell me.”

“Goddamnit…” Yata scowled, thoroughly put out by the idea. He didn’t think Kamamoto would play this kind of dumb joke _or_ go for revenge – it wasn’t like him. _So why the hell would he do it?_ His fingers twitched, the urge to clench them into fists growing right along with his increasing agitation.

Whatever the reason, he definitely wasn’t gonna go easy on him for a stunt like that!

“Either way, it’s only a five minute ride, if that.” Saruhiko was watching him when he glanced back. His eyes had a bit of a luminescent glow in the soft lighting, but his expression was as neutral as ever. “If they’re still around when we’re out, they can explain themselves then.”

Something in his tone was ominous; it was strangely satisfying. Yata grinned back, sharp and vicious. “Even if we gotta shake it out of ‘em!”

Saruhiko lowered his lids, the small edge of a smile curving his lips up. It was endearing even with the hint of malice – or maybe because of it. “’Even if’? I’d say we should start with that.”

“Heh!” Yata slumped back against the seat, turning his head to keep up the connection between them. “I like the way you think.”

Their eyes met, and something in Saruhiko’s gaze seemed to relax. Yata felt a small, almost pleasant squeezing sensation in his chest at the sight, and his grin widened without his conscious thought. _This is actually kinda nice._ Not that he was gonna forgive Kamamoto for it any time soon, but still.

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them. Yata was starting to think it might be fine to spend the entire ride like this, just looking at each other with the rest of the world momentarily cut off, when Saruhiko turned his head to face forward again and asked, unexpectedly, “What happened to you earlier?”

Yata blinked at him. “Huh? ‘Earlier’…?” He wracked his brain for a moment, tracing back over the evening.

“At the ice-cream parlor,” Saruhiko supplied. He hadn’t turned his head back, but he was watching Yata keenly from the corner of his eyes. “When you decided to destroy your dessert. What was that about?”

“Ah.” _Shit._ Yata squirmed in his seat, bracing his hands on his knees nervously. “That… I just…” He drummed his fingers, struggling to find a way to explain that didn’t involve giving away his stupid thoughts from back then. “I just… saw something that pissed me off,” he muttered finally, turning his gaze off to scowl at the line of tunnel ahead of them. “S’all.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly…

Saruhiko was quiet for a few seconds. The mood had shifted in an awkward direction, and Yata wasn’t sure how to switch it back to the easygoing one from before. He was on the verge of blurting something out just to break the tension when… “You changed clothes.”

_The hell? That‘s random._ Yata looked over quickly, and found Saruhiko facing forward still, a small frown on his face. He felt his brow furrow, confusion overriding the earlier embarrassment. “Yeah, so? You’re s’posed to dress up for dates, right?”

Saruhiko gave a small, almost nonexistent shrug, and then completely ignored the question. “Would you have bothered for anyone else?” he murmured instead.

“Huh?” Yata furrowed his eyebrows,  even more baffled than before. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue. “For example, if I had accepted your offer this morning,” he said, voice flat and neutral, “would you still have bothered to change?”

_Would’ve probably spent more time picking clothes._ The thought formed up automatically in response, and Yata felt his cheeks burn. He’d just kinda grabbed whatever looked dressier than his usual stuff, but that was with Kamamoto. If his date had been Saruhiko, he’d have actually thought about it. Maybe swallowed his pride and asked Chitose or someone for advice, even.

Not like he was going to admit it, though. “O-of course I would! That’s what you do for a date, isn’t it?”

At that, Saruhiko did glance back at him, though it was out of the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t.”

 “Yeah, well, you work those stupid long hours, so s’not like you’d have time to change.” Yata shrugged that off, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a lopsided smile. “Plus, you’re in nice stuff already, not like my usual crap.”

Again, Saruhiko’s gaze flickered away from him; those thin lips turned down a bit, and he mumbled something indistinct.

Yata leaned in towards him without thinking. “Huh? What’d you say?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue again, frown deepening even further. “I said, your usual clothing is fine.” He didn’t bother to turn, tone deliberately flat. “Anyway, this way it stands out when you wear something different. Isn’t that the point?”

An immediate burst of pleasant anxiety seemed to go off at the pit of his stomach at that. Yata felt his heart give another of those little flutters, and curled his fingers automatically against his pant legs, the fabric bunching against them. “O-oh,” he managed to get out in response, and swallowed, struggling to clear the embarrassing uncertainty from his voice. It was only partially successful. “R-right. I guess so.”

_‘Stands out’ is probably good, right? It looks good?_

It was crazy how gratifying it was to hear. Even better in person than through text. Yata reached up to rub the back of his neck, his face feeling uncomfortably warm but his whole body still buzzed from the compliment. “Th-thanks.”

Saruhiko turned his head so their eyes could meet, mumbling a quiet, “It’s nothing,” and Yata felt that painfully pleasant twist in his stomach. They were sitting close together in the cramped little boat, thighs almost touching, and with their heads turned towards each other, there was only a small gap between them. Yata found his eyes drawn to the soft, thin outline of Saruhiko’s lips, and the sudden rush of longing nearly stole his breath again.

_I really kinda… want to… y’know…_

There was a rushing in his mind, drowning out rational thought. In the dark, with those dim lights and the cheesy atmosphere, he had the half-formed notion that – hey – maybe it could be blamed on the location. On the mood.

His skin was tingling and his palms sweating where they were jammed down against his pant legs. He wasn’t consciously shifting forward, but it felt like Saruhiko was getting closer. The impetuous part of Yata’s brain wanted to let him think it was because Saruhiko was leaning in too, warmth increasing between their faces as space decreased. He felt the delicate brush of breath against his lips, and then –

 Bright light flashed at the edge of Yata’s vision; he jerked back instinctively, turning to stare with a kind of disoriented panic at the source. The tunnel’s exit was just ahead, all the lights from the park intruding now that they’d navigated the gentle curve of the ride.

It was like a blast of cold water. _The hell was I just…?_ Yata sucked in a breath, fingers clenching hard in the fabric under them as realization struck. His face felt like it was catching fire. _I just… fucking…_

Almost…

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, offset by the chatter from outside the ride. The atmosphere was unbearably awkward. Yata didn’t dare look over, too mortified by his own actions to even finish a thought, much less guess what Saruhiko might be thinking.

_Can’t believe I fucking did that – what the hell?_

The back of the boat was caught by the attendant, allowing them to disembark. Yata scrambled out quickly and just about flung himself down the steps, flustered energy nearly causing him to stumble. He stole a glance back to watch Saruhiko climbing out with more grace, face carefully neutral, and their eyes met briefly.

The spark in his stomach was more painful than it had been before. Yata hastily turned away, too overwhelmed by everything to keep up that contact. “It’s… y’know… i-it’s getting late, right?” His voice came out loud and shaky; he grimaced, shifting with agitation. “I’m gonna – I mean, I should get – get going.”

Saruhiko didn’t respond right away, his quiet, measured steps approaching as he descended the steps. He paused at the bottom, and let out a short, sharp breath. “I guess.” There was no emotion that could be easily picked out of that even tone. “I should go too.”

“Yeah…” Yata’s stomach was still in knots, but the lack of disgust or disdain was helping a little. He risked another glance, this time finding that Saruhiko wasn’t looking at him in return. The lights reflected off of his glasses, obscuring his eyes from view. “A-anyway, we probably tied again, huh?” Yata forced a laugh; it came out sounding too high and fake. “That’s turning into a habit or something…”

“That’s up to our dates, isn’t it?” Saruhiko clicked his tongue, still not returning Yata’s gaze. “Wherever they are.” He turned, face sliding out of view as he took a step away, and mumbled, almost too quietly to be heard, “But you’re probably right.”

“R-right…” Yata couldn’t think of anything else to say, a confusing storm of emotion still raging in his head. In the end, he stood there dumbly and watched Saruhiko walk away without another word.

It wasn’t until he was out of sight that the full weight of the embarrassing incident struck home. Yata buried his flaming face in his hands, the theme park lights broken up into slits in his vision, like he was viewing them through a jail cell. He let out a low groan that broke off into a growl at the end and clenched his teeth against the wave of shame and regret.

_Goddamnit!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please everyone go look at the lovely commission I got from Maru for this chapter [on tumblr](http://marudyne.tumblr.com/post/145712426644/i-personally-think-it-looks-nicer-in-actual-size) or in higher def on [my website](http://www.hiddenlegacy.net/K/tunnel-of-love-art.jpg) (don't forget to fav/reblog). It's so amazing!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone missed it on the last chapter's notes, please go check out the lovely artwork by Maru for the last scene [on tumblr](http://marudyne.tumblr.com/post/145712426644/i-personally-think-it-looks-nicer-in-actual-size) or in higher def on [my website](http://www.hiddenlegacy.net/K/tunnel-of-love-art.jpg). So pretty!

Fushimi was a light, irregular sleeper in the best of times, and feeling tired and out of sorts in the morning wasn’t uncommon. He’d normally just drown the feeling with coffee and lose himself in whatever he was working on until he forgot about the various complaints in his body. It was just a matter of keeping his thoughts sharp.

The morning after his ‘date’, the alarm went off and the first thought that crossed his mind was that he’d rather curl up and die than be forced to drag himself out of bed.

_Don’t be stupid._ Heaving a tired sigh against his pillow, Fushimi stubbornly pushed himself up. His head was starting to hurt already even as he squinted at his phone with displeasure, lifting his glasses from the bedside table and sliding them up onto his nose.

There was no denying that he felt awful, but he was at least ninety percent certain that most of it was in his head.

‘In his head’ had become an increasingly confusing place over the past three days. Fushimi clicked his tongue, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. There were fleeting moments of pleasure that came with his feelings for Misaki, but most of it had been baffling, frustrating, and occasionally painful.

Last night had been a case in point. He could still clearly remember that brief ride in the tunnel, crammed in together on those uncomfortable seats after Misaki had been dumped, quite literally, on his lap. The bright sincerity of those sparkling amber eyes – understated and brown in the dim light, but still full of life, color, energy; so beautiful that it felt like Fushimi’s throat momentarily closed up. He didn’t know what to say or do, but Misaki hadn’t seemed to mind. Misaki had smiled at him, several times and each one a little different – a broad smile… a devious smile… a soft smile that had some feeling in it he couldn’t place. It was vivid in his memory: the stretch and spread of that full bottom lip.

The ghostlike sensation of those lips nearly touching his own made him shiver, even now.

_What the hell was I thinking?_

That was the problem: he hadn’t been thinking. At all. It was as if Misaki’s proximity in that moment had drained his head of any rational thought. He’d just blindly gone along with whatever stupid impulse had caught him up in it and nearly _kissed_ Misaki.

… The fact that some part of him was regretting the fact that he hadn’t actually managed to complete the kiss was a sign that he really was beyond hope now.

_It’s better that it didn’t happen._ That was the hard, logical truth of it, whatever his feelings happened to be. Misaki’s skittish reaction wasn’t exactly promising. Not that he’d expected otherwise. The sinking feeling in his stomach when he considered that fact was just the product of his traitorous mind allowing itself to hold out hope in what was, essentially, a hopeless situation.

Well, it didn’t matter. Fushimi pushed himself up from the bed, letting out an irritated breath and heading for the bathroom. He’d managed just fine before Misaki had come into his life, and he could manage fine without this new… thing… turning into anything more between them. It was better to just pretend nothing had happened in the first place.

_Should be simple enough, considering how eager he was to get out of there…_

Despite everything, Fushimi followed the motions of his routine briskly and efficiently, ignoring the dull headache vying for his attention. When he checked the forecast on his phone before leaving his apartment, it was calling for rain. Which was inconvenient, because he hadn’t bothered to replace the umbrella that was buried somewhere in the rubble at the school. He’d have to borrow one from the store room at Scepter 4 if he needed to go outside at any point.

He probably would, and it’d probably be raining when he did. That was normally how things went for him these days.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t start to rain until after Yata had left his apartment, and he didn’t actually notice it until the bus let him off at his stop. It wasn’t a heavy rain – more of a gentle sprinkle – and it was still pretty warm out, so he shrugged it off and skated on past Homra to check out the challenge board first.

Honestly, he had too many things on his mind to think much about rain. Or, well, maybe not _too many_ things – more like one thing that took over most of his thoughts.

He kept replaying that scene from the Tunnel of Love in his head, trying to figure out if Saruhiko might have leaned in too or if it was really all on his side. The details were kind of a blur. Well, details like “who leaned in” were. He could vividly remember the warmth caught between their faces, and Saruhiko’s breath brushing against his mouth. That was where his mind always went when he tried to think about it seriously, and he ended up flustered and more confused than ever.

_Fuck it._ He pushed off harder against the pavement, willing himself not to blush. He was sick of that already. _Just forget it. It didn’t happen. And if he says something, then… it was the mood. Or something. Whatever. I’ll deal with it then._

The fact that he’d been sleeping like shit since this whole thing started really didn’t help. His movements felt slower than before, almost sluggish, and it was hard to stay focused.

Fortunately, the challenge board wasn’t far. Yata did his best to shrug off his bad mood and rolled to a stop beside it, setting one foot on the ground to keep himself still as he read.

‘Visit three places that were significant to you recently, and take a picture of each one’.

Okay. Yata frowned at the challenge, idly sliding his board under his foot. That sounded simple enough. It was only three pictures. Three different places. Pretty easy, when you thought about it.

_Significant places, though…_

The first thing that sprang to mind was the Tunnel of Love at the theme park, and that brought the hot flush back up to his face, full force. _No fucking way am I using that!_ Besides the fact that it’d be awkward as hell – Saruhiko would probably see the picture and then he’d _know_ and it’d be weird – it was kinda also… not what he wanted to go with in the first place.

Maybe it was dumb, but when it said ‘significant places’, he strongly felt it should be places he felt significantly _happy_ about, not like… embarrassed or awkward or… well, just really mixed feelings!

There was that ‘recently’ part to consider, too… When – and more importantly, where – had he felt happiest _recently_?

_Well, don’t have to figure it out right away._ Yata kicked off in the opposite direction, absently making his way back towards Homra. He wasn’t sure how they were going to figure out the winner – whoever took the best pictures, maybe? – but it probably wasn’t going to be ‘whoever finishes first’. So he pretty much had all day.

If he was lucky, it wouldn’t actually take that long.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Yata took his mid-morning – well, more like ‘nearly noon’ – break, it was pouring rain outside, and he was no closer to having any ideas for pictures than he had before.

Kamamoto wasn’t in that day, which was annoying – he’d wanted to demand an explanation in person, but he didn’t have the patience to wait and ended up sending an angry text message instead. The response – ‘Sorry, Yata-san… I thought it might help you out’ – hadn’t really done anything to ease his frustration.

_Don’t need that kinda help, seriously…_

“Sorry I didn’t have an umbrella to loan you,” Totsuka said with some sympathy as Yata sat down at the table opposite him. “Maybe you should let someone else handle the deliveries for a while.”

“S’fine.” Yata shrugged, setting down the plate of snacks he’d brought out. He’d already wrung his shirt off in the bathroom sink, so it wasn’t dripping any more but it still felt cold and clingy against his skin. The temperature was warm enough that it wasn’t a big deal, at least. “An umbrella wouldn’t do much when I’m skating, anyway. And rain’s not gonna kill me.”

“That’s true.” Totsuka leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand and smiling warmly. “Be careful not to catch a cold, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He brushed that warning aside, tipping over a slice of coffee cake and breaking off a piece to pop into his mouth as he tried to go through some places he’d been recently.

Skate park? _Haven’t been there in a while._ His apartment? _Boring._ Scepter 4? _Yeah right._ Homra? _Well…_

“Thinking about the challenge?” Totsuka’s voice startled him out of his thoughts; he glanced over and got another knowing look. “If you’re stuck, you could try to go for a theme of some kind.”

Yata blinked at him. “Huh? What d’you mean by that? What kinda theme?”

“Any theme.” Totsuka titled his head a bit, as if watching Yata’s face for some reaction. “Pick something that’s been on your mind lately. It’ll make things easier, because that’s the direction your thoughts want to go anyway.” His smile widened a bit. “I think some locations will come to you then. Plus, your pictures will be better quality!” He added a wink with that. “Success guaranteed.”

“Something that’s been on my mind…” Yata repeated slowly, and frowned a bit.

If it came down to it… there was that one obvious thing…

_I can’t just use that!_ A hot wave of embarrassment flooded him at that; he turned his gaze back towards the front of the shop, frown shifting to a scowl. There was no way he could get something workable out of his stupid crush on Saruhiko. Even if that was what was on his mind lately, it wasn’t like there were specific places that were “significant” about it, other than that cheesy Tunnel of Love ride. Right?

_Right…_

Except… maybe…

Yata blinked, and it was like the scene in front of him came into sharper focus. He could see the entrance to the coffee shop, currently free after the mid-morning rush had passed, the rainfall visible just past the glass on the doors. With his memory filling in the blanks, he also thought he could see a slender, hunched figure stepping inside, closing his drenched umbrella as he did.

His heart gave another of those suspicious little squeezes. Without thinking fully about it, Yata pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up the camera function, holding it up to take a picture of the front entrance.

“You thought of something?” Totsuka asked gently; when he looked back over, that same soft little smile was in place, eyes warm. “That looked like a pretty meaningful shot, just now.”

It was the kind of look that he couldn’t help but smile back at, partly sheepish and partly grateful – and definitely feeling a lot more enthusiastic about the challenge. “Yeah, kinda.” He put the phone back in sleep mode and stuffed it hastily into his pocket, reaching out to grab another chunk of cake. “Thanks, Totsuka-san!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was an incredibly stupid idea, and he couldn’t believe he was actually going to do it.

Fushimi frowned at the door to the Homra coffee house, vaguely aware of the soft patter of rain on the umbrella he’d borrowed from his workplace. It was just past five, and disgustingly damp out while still being mildly warm, which was irritating.

_The weather was like this when I first came in here, too._

That was exactly the kind of thought he _didn’t_ need at the moment. This challenge wasn’t as actively annoying as some of the others, but it had a whimsical edge to it that Fushimi didn’t particularly care for. _‘Significant’ places – seriously? By whose standards?_ It was frustratingly vague.

Still, there were only a handful of places where anything that could potentially qualify as ‘significant’ had happened recently. It had taken a while to decide which ones were the least objectionable options. No doubt whoever was going to judge this silly thing would ask for an explanation of why he’d made his decisions, so he had carefully thought about reasons that had nothing to do with Misaki for each one.

_He’s the only significant thing that’s happened to me lately, regardless._ Frustratingly, his co-workers seemed to have picked up on that – at least, if Hidaka could be considered representative of them. His defense when Fushimi had confronted him about the whole Tunnel of Love fiasco had been something along the lines of ‘it seemed like he was the one you really wanted to be with – I just figured I’d help out’.

_I didn’t ask for that kind of ‘help’._

It was primarily because he couldn’t bury those impressions and feelings from the night before that he’d worked through his lunch hour in order to arrive at Homra after Misaki’s shift had ended. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how he felt about meeting him with those particular thoughts on his mind.

_Stupid,_ he berated himself, letting out a sharp breath and finally reaching for the door handle. _It’s not like he cares. He’d probably be more than happy to pretend that nothing happened in the first place._

Still…

“Welcome to Homra!” he was greeted, in a relatively subdued voice by a vaguely familiar blond at the counter. There didn’t seem to be any other workers around.

Fushimi relaxed marginally.

“Oh, Fushimi-kun!” a familiar cheerful voice called out. When he looked over, Totsuka Tatara was offering him a friendly wave from where his wheelchair was sitting beside one of the tables. Around him, there were only a small handful of other customers, most of whom appeared to be heavily engaged in their own business. “If you’re looking for Yata, he just left – I think he’ll be back once he gets the pictures he wants, though.”

_That’s kind of irritating._ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “I’m not.” He turned his gaze back towards the counter, and frowned slightly. When he’d decided on this particular option, he hadn’t considered the barista who’d inevitably be in the way.

There probably wasn’t going to be a convenient way to ask him to move…

“Ah, so you’re here to take a picture yourself, then, right?” Totsuka seemed determined to continue the conversation, unbothered by the less than enthusiastic response. “Did you want a shot of the front counter, maybe?”

It was unerring how he could hit the mark like that. Fushimi glanced sideways at him, and got back a suspiciously innocent little smile. _I don’t know if I feel like answering now._

After a few seconds of silence, Totsuka chuckled. “You’re a little on the shy side, huh, Fushimi-kun?” He didn’t wait for a response, turning his gaze toward the counter instead. “Eric, maybe come over here for a bit, okay?”

The barista shrugged. “If you say so.” He stepped away from the till and lifted the counter to let himself out.

Fushimi watched him, a little nonplussed despite the fact that he’d gotten his way. _Well, whatever._ Resolving to ignore Totsuka and his uncanny deduction skills, he leaned his umbrella back against the wall and took out his cell phone.

_A significant place…_

It was strange to think that he’d met Misaki here for the first time just a little less than two weeks ago. Somehow, it felt like more time had passed. If he allowed himself, he could still clearly remember walking in and looking up, thinking nothing special of the sharp-eyed barista who would make his coffee. The part that stuck out most vividly in his head was Misaki’s reaction to the logo on his vest – that violent play of indignation and stubborn pride that were displayed openly in his expression. At the time it had been annoying, but…

_Well, it’s still annoying in hindsight._

Fushimi couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he took the picture.

“That looked like a good one!” Totsuka’s voice cut brightly through the moment. When Fushimi turned a flat stare on him, he offered a kind, unassuming smile. “I was just wondering what kind of significant memory you have of this place, Fushimi-kun.”

_As if I’d tell you._ Fushimi bent to retrieve his umbrella, getting it ready in his hand without actually opening it as he reached for the door handle. “Nothing special,” he responded evenly, pulling the door open. “This was the place we started this particular game, that’s all.”

He didn’t wait for Totsuka’s response before leaving the shop.

 

* * *

 

 

Unsurprisingly, there was nobody sitting outside at Hakumaitou when he made his way over. The rain was coming down harder than before – not exactly a torrent, but steady enough that Fushimi was glad he’d thought to borrow an umbrella. The ice cream parlor’s awning guarded the outdoor tables from the poor weather, but rain didn’t exactly inspire a craving for cold treats, even if the temperature was still pretty mild.

_That’ll make it easier, at least._ He would’ve had a difficult time asking some random person to move if they’d happened to be sitting in the location he wanted to get a picture of.

“Hello there!” The silver-haired man who’d been behind the counter on Sunday greeted him as he walked up, looking up from the specials board he’d been carefully scribbling on. “Your friend was here just a short while ago – if you’re looking for him, you just missed him, I’m afraid.”

Fushimi frowned at him. “Friend?”

“Oh, I’m sorry – the one with the skateboard.” The man smiled back, a bit apologetically. “I remember you two from Sunday. It’s hard to forget since you came in just before closing, you know?”

The clarification stirred up a little jolt of surprised pleasure in Fushimi’s stomach. “Misaki?” He blinked, not quite sure what to make of his own reaction. _He came here too?_ There was something reassuring about that thought, but he couldn’t manage to put his finger on it. The portion of his brain that seemed to have submitted to infatuation wanted him to feel pleased, but it was more baffling than anything.

When had his own thoughts and feelings become so needlessly complicated?

“Well, I didn’t catch his name.” The man shrugged, spreading his hands a little as if to say ‘what can you do?’ “He didn’t stay for that long, anyway.” That seemed to trigger something; he blinked, and then tilted his head inquiringly. “Oh – are you here to take a picture too, or did you want some ice-cream?”

_Too._ Fushimi drew in a breath. Obviously, that was the likely explanation for Misaki’s presence, but having it confirmed evoked more of a reaction, somehow. He clicked his tongue to cover his uncertainty. “The picture.”

“No problem – go right ahead.” The man offered a carefree sort of smile, waving his hand generously at the tables. “Don’t mind me.”

_I wasn’t planning on it_. Fushimi turned away from him, focusing on the table that was his goal in order to settle his thoughts somewhat. It was the table where he’d sat with Misaki on Sunday – back when his meddling boss had made the casual observation that had caused everything to snowball out of control.

He couldn’t help but wonder how things might have gone if Munakata hadn’t come by right at that moment. Would he still be comfortably oblivious about his own feelings? Perhaps he would’ve blindly handed the victory to Misaki on Monday and not thought anything of it. Or agreed to the two-date idea without bothering to overthink it. Possibly even now he’d be here taking this picture, having no awareness of what the attraction that drove him actually meant.

… Or maybe he’d still have almost kissed Misaki in the Tunnel of Love, and he’d have been forced to come to terms with it, regardless.

_Does it really matter, in the end?_

The memory of Misaki’s smile from across the table flashed through his mind, and Fushimi closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring it. He was far too used to treading those negative paths in his thought process, finding the worst possible outcome and focusing on its likelihood. Was it really that bad if he found a small amount of happiness being around Misaki, even with the awkwardness of his unrequited feelings and awkward urges?

_Probably not._

He opened his eyes, raised his phone, and took the picture.

It felt a bit cathartic, actually; Fushimi let out a breath, allowing himself a small, rueful smile as he tucked the device back into his pocket. _I wonder if he’ll be at the next location, too._

Despite everything, he had to admit that he was hoping for it now.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t seem like the rain was going to let up any time soon. “Damnit…” Yata surveyed the chaotic remains of the collapsed wall at the school with a certain amount of frustration. A large portion of the roof had gone down with the wall, so there wasn’t any shelter on that side of the open cellar door to get a shot of it without drenching his phone.

Hell, he’d already drenched _himself_. He was soaked through, hair and clothing sticking to his body; it wasn’t all that cold, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, either.

This was gonna be a pain in the ass. Yata scowled, considering his options. It would’ve been easier with a friend, but he didn’t really want to explain why he was taking these particular pictures. The Hakumaitou one, especially. No one else needed to know about that shit. It was… y’know, personal. When he thought back to how it had felt to stare across the table at Saruhiko’s small, almost hesitant smiles, a kind of warmth flooded over him. It was embarrassing, but nice. He didn’t need a goddamn audience to savor it for just a second.

It’d be the same here too, probably, but first he had to figure out how the hell he was gonna take the picture in the first place. He didn’t really wanna end up fucking up his phone, which meant he’d need some kind of shelter.

And that meant climbing over the rubble to the hallway, probably.

_Well, whatever, I’ve done more dangerous stuff than this._

He was just setting down his skateboard with the intention of going ahead and doing that when he heard footsteps from behind him. “What are you doing, Misaki?”

The familiar voice had him tensing up instinctively; Yata drew in a breath and was able to collect himself, turning to face Saruhiko fully. “Hey.”

It was the first time they’d met since last night… To be honest, he hadn’t been all that sure how he’d handle it. That kiss – almost kiss – was still near the front of his mind, and he didn’t think it was going anywhere any time soon. He was more aware of his feelings for Saruhiko than ever – not just wanting to be around him and talk to him, but with the strong urge to do things like touch and get closer. The physical side of it was… weird. He wasn’t too sure how to deal with it. Did it show on his face?

Hell, maybe Saruhiko already knew everything and was just not mentioning it out of politeness.

If he did, though, he didn’t give any sign of it. At the moment, he looked the same as ever, with that characteristic hint of irritation in his expression that he always seemed to carry. He’d also been smart enough to bring an umbrella, so he was mostly dry, unlike Yata. “That’s not really an answer,” he drawled in response, raising an eyebrow as he approached.

The familiarity was a tiny bit relaxing, to be honest. It made it easier to pull a natural response in return, despite the knots tightening almost painfully in Yata’s stomach. “Yeah, but most people say ‘hi’ first before they start asking questions, y’know?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, coming to a stop right in front of him. “You could try listening to what people actually say rather than what you expect them to say.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Yata shut his eyes briefly and heaved a short sigh, smiling ruefully. _This isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, after all._ “Rude bastard.”

He got an amused huff for that. “So? What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture. Y’know, somehow.” Yata turned his frown on the rubble again, remembering his current problem. “All this rain isn’t making it easy. Figured I’d climb to the other side so there’s shelter.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” Saruhiko responded, without hesitation or any show of remorse. “Who knows what else is ready to give in this building? The rain doesn’t help with structural integrity.” He sighed shortly, shifting. “Anyway, it’s not necessary.”

“Hah?” Yata scowled, already turning to argue back irritably. “It’s not stupid! How the hell else – ?” He stopped, losing his train of thought when he noticed that the arm holding the umbrella had extended slightly in his direction. The beat of rain against his body had stopped; by contrast, Saruhiko’s hair and shirt were steadily dampening.

For a second, all he could do was blink, too surprised to even properly think. Saruhiko wasn’t looking at him; he was staring straight ahead, frowning at the rubble. There were tiny droplets already dotting the frames of his glasses. “How long are you planning to just stand there and think about it?” he muttered, sounding put-out. “Hurry up and take the picture.”

“Uh.” Yata shook himself out of it. “R-right!” He could feel the warm building under his skin in response to the gesture, and couldn’t help the grin spreading on his face. “Thanks!”

He got back a grunt that may or may not have been acknowledgement; Saruhiko’s expression didn’t change, aside from the tiny little downward twitch at the corner of his lips. Yata reached into his pocket for his phone, turning back to the rubble and the dark entrance to the cellar they’d fallen through just a few days ago.

It kinda seemed like it had been longer. Yata brought up the camera app, focusing the shot as best he could, and felt a little of that memory wash over him. This may not have looked like the best experience, almost having a wall dumped on him and then falling through the floor to get trapped in a cellar, but he and Saruhiko had gained an understanding of each other during that time, and that made it significant. He remembered lying on his side, meeting that unusually soft gaze in the dim light as the world outside their tiny shared space seemed to fade off into the background, and felt a shivery feeling that had nothing to do with the rain wrack through his body.

It seemed like that emotion had lodged itself firmly in his throat, even as he snapped the picture. Yata had to swallow hard before he could managed to force out, “Got it.”

They turned to look at each other at almost the exact same moment – it was a little weird, but not in a bad way. Saruhiko seemed to be trying to keep his head tilted forward to protect his glasses, but the lens had picked up a couple of droplets anyway. Weighed down by the rain, his hair was starting to droop out of its carefully styled look; it wasn’t really a bad look for him. As their eyes met, the corners of his mouth edged up in a wry smile. “Good work.”

It was difficult to fight back the urges that rose up under his skin at that. He wanted to reach out and touch those delicately curved lips; wanted to lean in and finish that kiss and finally, _finally_ find out what it would actually feel like. Yata swallowed, focusing on stowing his phone away to fight back those intense feelings. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, forcefully changing the track of his thoughts. “You – you gonna take one, too? That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Saruhiko shook his head. “I already took it.”

That was a little surprising. “Huh. When’d you do that?”

“Sometime around when you were staring off into space earlier.” That came with a small shrug. “It doesn’t exactly take long to get a picture.” There was a tiny moment of hesitation; Saruhiko’s chin tipped down a little further, eyelids lowering as if to shield his eyes. “When we were stuck here before, you kept going on about heroes.”

The sudden switch in the conversation was jarring enough to keep his thoughts clean. Yata raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “Yeah, and?”

“Nothing really.” It came out in that overblown drawl; Saruhiko shut his eyes briefly and sighed, then looked up again with that slightly guarded look. “I was just thinking it might not be so bad.” Another brief pause, and then he mumbled, almost reluctantly, “That… being a hero for just one person.”

“Eh?” Yata blinked at him, a little taken aback. _He actually remembered that?_ The thought was kinda gratifying – that Saruhiko had listened to him seriously and thought about what he said. It seemed like such a small thing, but it still resonated strongly. “Oh… yeah.” He felt another little surge of warmth, and smiled in response, hoping to reflect some of it back. “Right? I think so, too.”

“So I gathered.” Saruhiko deflected his gaze again, frowning slightly, and reached up to brush wet hair from his forehead.

That was the point when Yata realized the umbrella was still tilted over his own head. He blinked, glancing up at it with some surprise. _Seriously? He’s not usually this forgetful, right?_ As much as he appreciated the gesture, he wasn’t going to just stand there and take advantage, though. He reached up and tipped it back over, feeling a tiny jolt when his fingers brushed against Saruhiko’s and covering it with a brash grin. “Hey, who’s the idiot here? You’re getting all wet.”

He got a clicked tongue for his efforts. “So are you.”

Yata pulled back his hand, offering a small shrug in return. “M’already soaked.” He plucked at the front of his shirt meaningfully. “Might as well save yourself since you’re still sorta dry.”

Saruhiko sighed, shooting him what looked like a resigned look. “Let’s go inside.”

“Heh.” That brought a grin; Yata bent to retrieve his skateboard. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Glad to hear it.” Saruhiko paused to wait for him, and they started back up towards the street together. “By the way,” he added, “how exactly do we plan to judge this challenge? I think we’ve established that both of our teams are a little too biased for either of us to trust their judgment.”

“Yeah, s’probably true.” Yata thought about it for a moment, frowning to himself, and then brightened as an idea struck, turning to offer another smile. “I think I know just the guy, though!”

 

* * *

 

 

“You want me to judge?” Totsuka blinked, looking a little startled at first, and then smiled, almost to himself. “Ah, I guess that’s kind of fitting, huh?”

Fushimi frowned at him, vaguely suspicious. “What do you mean by ‘fitting’?”

“Nothing , really.” Totsuka waved a hand, cheerfully dismissing the concern. “Just talking to myself. I’d be happy to judge your competition if you’re okay with leaving it to me!”

_I wouldn’t say I’m okay with it._ Truthfully, he had his reservations about getting involved with this flighty, overly friendly person in any way, but the fact of the matter was that they didn’t have many “neutral” friends who could be trusted to make an unbiased judgment call on something as subjective as a picture-taking competition. Totsuka had, at least, ruled unhesitatingly in Fushimi’s favor at one point, so there was no reason to believe he’d prioritize Misaki in this case.

It wasn’t exactly perfect, but it was the only viable option, so he’d have to live with it.

By contrast, Misaki didn’t seem to see anything odd in Totsuka’s behavior at all. “Thanks, Totsuka-san!” He was still dripping all over the floor too, apparently not seeing any problem with that either. “Here, let me get mine ready…” He dug into his pocket.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Shouldn’t you dry off and get changed first?” They’d both been handed towels shortly after they’d come into the building; his was still draped around his neck, soaking up the dampness from his hair and shoulders. Misaki had his in more or less the same place, but he’d been exposed to the rain for longer, and the cursory towel-off he’d given the rest of his body earlier hadn’t done much for his saturated clothing.

“S’fine, I can do that after!” Misaki shrugged it off as unimportant, frowning at his phone for a few seconds as he slowly but steadily added to the puddles growing on the floor.

_I wonder if Kusanagi and Anna are okay with that._ It wasn’t exactly his business, but he suspected that Misaki was busily earning himself a lecture of some sort. He was also potentially going to earn himself a cold, and his clothing was sticking to him in very distracting ways that Fushimi was doing his best not to notice.

His brain was also trying to feed him a mentally constructed sequence of Misaki peeling the clothing off of his slick body while drops of water slid slowly down along his skin, which didn’t help. Despite having resigned himself to those inevitable physical fantasies, he couldn’t help but find the timing to be highly inconvenient. Fushimi clicked his tongue, pulling out his own phone in an attempt to push the thoughts out of his head.

_Seriously, what a pain._

“Okay, got the first picture!” Misaki held out his phone with confident satisfaction. “You can just flip through to get to the others.”

“All right.” Totsuka took the device, holding it out flat in front of him. “Oh, I remember this one! It turned out really good, just like I thought.”

Fushimi raised his eyes discreetly to take a look. The phone was at a convenient angle; even from where he was standing, he could see the image of the front entrance to Homra clearly. It looked like it had been taken from some place close to where they were standing, but the focus was clearly on the door, as if Misaki had taken it with the expectation that someone was going to walk in.

There was no reason to think the picture had anything to do with him – and probably a dozen logical reasons why it likely didn’t – but looking at it gave Fushimi a strange feeling. He was suddenly almost uncomfortably aware of the photo in his collection taken from the position at the door, and what feelings it had stirred in him when he was taking it.

_There’s no way he was thinking the same thing…_ He turned his gaze back to his own phone, navigating to the folder he’d stored his own three challenge photos in. _It’s a coincidence, that’s all._

“Hm~m? What’s this?” Totsuka’s tone had taken on a lightly teasing edge. “Is there something you haven’t told me, Yata?”

Fushimi looked over again to see what picture had triggered the comment, and felt his skin prickle up. It was the picture he’d had Akiyama take two days ago, after Awashima had helped him to wear her clothing properly.

_He saved that?_

“AH!” Misaki nearly jumped forward, hastily reaching in to swipe the view back to the picture from before. “T-T-Totsuka-san! You’re supposed to flip the other way! Forward! To the next pictures!”

He was babbling. Fushimi studied his face with some surprise, watching as red coloring rose up on his cheeks, spreading across to his ears and down along his neck. It was a fascinating counterpoint to the endearingly panicked expression.

Misaki’s eyes flickered up to meet his, flustered and embarrassed, and an answering warmth sparked in Fushimi’s stomach as well. He couldn’t help but think of the corresponding image he had saved on his own phone, and felt a little of that warmth rising to his face. It was difficult to resist the urge to click his tongue as they mutually broke the gaze off; the awkward feeling in the air was almost overpowering.

_This is why you make a separate folder for things you want to show others, stupid._

“Oh, sorry!” Totsuka laughed the moment off as if it were nothing, glancing from Yata to Fushimi with an insufferably knowing look before turning down to the phone again and switching to the next picture. “I’ll be careful. Now, let’s see here…”

It was the Hakumaitou Ice Cream Parlor picture. He’d been expecting it, but it was still strange to see the conclusive evidence that they’d picked the exact same locations for all three photos. Misaki had chosen an angle similar to the one Fushimi had used for his picture, so they were probably going to be difficult to judge. The center point was clearly the table they’d sat at after treating each other to ice cream for the challenge on Sunday.

_What was he thinking of when he took this?_ It didn’t seem like Totsuka was going to ask any questions after all – maybe he preferred to judge based on whatever fueled that uncanny intuition of his. Fushimi risked a glance at Misaki’s face, trying to gauge his reaction – he was gripping either end of the towel around his neck and frowning down at his own picture, cheeks still a bit pink from the earlier embarrassment.

That wasn’t much to go on.

“This one is really nice, too, Yata – looks like you did a great job with this challenge, huh?” Totsuka sounded more than a little pleased, pausing to shoot Misaki a little smile before swiping forward to the next picture. “Ah, is this where you two had that accident? That must’ve been pretty intense!”

“Yeah, kinda!” Misaki grinned back, looking a bit sheepish about it. “Saruhiko was the one who pulled me out of the way – otherwise I probably would’ve been under all that rubble there!” He barked out a short laugh. “He really saved my ass!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, uncomfortable with the level of praise. “I didn’t do much.”

Misaki raised an eyebrow in good-natured exasperation. “What, you saying my ass ain’t worth much?”

The comment surprised an amused huff out of him. “I think I’ll withhold any comments about the value of your ass, Misaki.”

“Huh? Hey! What’s with that? Don’t be weird!”

“You’re the one who brought it up in the first place.”

Totsuka chuckled lightly. “You two sure are getting along well now, huh?” He set Misaki’s phone down on the table, looking up at Fushimi expectantly. “Should we see how your pictures compare, then, Fushimi-kun?”

The folder was already open on his phone. Fushimi reversed the device and handed it over. “You can go in whatever order.”

“Ah, you made an album just for the challenge, huh?” Totsuka commented, taking it from him. “That’s not a bad idea.”

 “It’s common sense.” He frowned back. “There isn’t anything else you need to see.”

“Oh-ho.” Totsuka glanced up at him, another of those deceptively innocent smiles on his face. “Does that mean you’ve got some secrets hidden in here, maybe?”

_Seriously?_ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “That’s none of your business, is it?”

Totsuka laughed softly. “Message received loud and clear!” He turned his eyes on the phone again, holding it out the same way he’d done with Misaki’s. “I’ll keep my nose where it’s welcome, don’t worry.”

_Right…_

It was too late to be apprehensive about it, though – Totsuka had already opened the picture of Homra’s front counter. “Oh, it’s the one you took when you were here earlier. Looking good, Fushimi-kun!”

Misaki had leaned in closer, peering at the phone with open interest; he blinked when he saw the image.  “Homra?” His eyebrows knit together, and he lifted his gaze to stare at Fushimi with perplexity. “Why’d you take one here? What ‘significant’ thing happened?”

_You did, idiot._ Fushimi shifted, crossing his arms over his chest and offering a small frown in return. “I didn’t ask questions about your pictures, did I?”

He got a scowl for that. “Yeah, fine. Stingy jerk.”

“This is going to be a close contest, I think.” Totsuka swiped forward to the next picture, and then blinked. “Hm? I feel like I’ve seen this one before…”

Of course he’d have a comment like that. Fushimi clicked his tongue, turning his eyes to the side as Totsuka reached for Misaki’s phone to make a comparison. “It’s a coincidence.”

“Y-yeah…” The unusual hesitance in Misaki’s voice pulled his gaze; their eyes met, and he caught the open uncertainty and confusion on that honest face for that brief instant before Misaki was jerking his head down again, coloring. “Right. Crazy, huh? Hah…”

“I see! A coincidence, is it?” Totsuka glanced back and forth between them, another of those amused little smiles playing on his lips. “Well, it’s true – I’d say the level of emotion put into these pictures is about the same.” He shrugged. “Or something like that, anyway.”

Fushimi felt his eyebrow twitch. _Don’t act like you can measure something as arbitrary as that…_

“Huh? Can you seriously tell?” Misaki frowned, narrowing his eyes a little. “Totsuka-san, you’re not messing with me, are you?”

Totsuka spread his hands innocently. “Eh, who knows? I’m going with my instincts here. But I have a good feeling, you know?”

Misaki blinked, and then the frown softened out into something of a sheepish grin. “Uh… right. Sure.”

Fushimi’s other eyebrow twitched. _Seriously…_

“All right, one more, huh?” Totsuka slid across to the next picture, pausing for just a second as he took it in. “Oh – Yata, looks like you’re in this one!”

“Eh? What?” Misaki leaned forward again, looking surprised. “Really?”

_You didn’t have to bring that up._ Fushimi eyed his own picture, vaguely embarrassed now that it was out there. Not that he’d expected it to be overlooked or anything, but he wasn’t keen on having attention drawn to it.

He didn’t need to explain himself, either. Misaki had already been standing there when he’d arrived at the school, staring blankly at the mess inside with his skateboard tucked under his arm and his clothing already drenched from the rain, so it wasn’t strange for him to be in the shot. Something about the scene had seemed lonely, although Fushimi wasn’t sure what had given him that impression. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Either way, he’d stopped and stood there for a while, paralyzed with feelings he didn’t quite know how to process – staring at Misaki’s back and becoming uncomfortably aware of little details like the cling of his wet clothing and the way his hair stuck to his skin at the back of his neck.  And that was when he’d remembered Misaki’s words, from down in that cellar.

_“Isn’t it cool to think that you could be someone else’s hero some day?”_

It was crazy and stupid, but looking at the scene in front of him, the words had seemed to resonate.

_Not that sharing your umbrella qualifies you as a hero._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, looking away from the picture again. Misaki hadn’t realized it, of course, which was probably for the best. Another awkward victory for the infatuation eating away at his brain.

Well, it was fine – he was resigned to it now.

“It’s funny how the two of you ended up using the exact same locations for all three pictures,” Totsuka commented, studying the picture thoughtfully. He looked up with a cheerful smile. “Maybe it’s a sign your feelings are in sync, hm?”

“Huh? F-feelings?” Misaki jerked a little, almost guiltily, and glanced up at Fushimi. There was something self-conscious and hesitant in his expression, and an emotion that Fushimi couldn’t quite place in his eyes. Fervent, desperate, hopeful. Even with that uncertainty present, he seemed to blaze with the same passion that always made Fushimi’s heart pound hard in his chest.

For one careless, wild instant, he found himself wishing he’d closed the last bit of distance sooner last night. If he had, he’d know what Misaki’s lips felt like, rather than just the ghost-like brush of breath against his own. The urge to step around that table and find out right then and there was so strong he felt his fingers twitch where they were tucked against his arms, a tremor settling in his bones as his feelings overwhelmed him.

He turned his gaze to the side quickly, and the moment passed. “Don’t be stupid.” The words came out in a soft mumble, embarrassingly reluctant; he compensated by shifting deliberately to a condescending drawl. “We’ve both been competing in the same challenge contest - is it really that much of a surprise for our ‘significant’ places to be the same?”

“Well, I guess that’s true.” Totsuka shrugged, accepting the argument easily, and offered Fushimi another of those consciously unassuming smiles. “Fushimi-kun, you’re very logical, huh?”

Somehow, he had the impression he’d just been seen through. Fushimi frowned back, nonplussed.

“Right…” Misaki’s voice broke the silence, more subdued than usual. He was staring down at the picture on the phone, a small, rueful smile on his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck under the towel. “Right, yeah. It is kinda stupid, huh?”

There was a soft undertone of something like disappointment in both his voice and posture. Fushimi stared at him for a moment, feeling a tiny seed of uncertainty sprouting within him as well. He wasn’t sure what had caused that reaction, but he didn’t like it.

_Why is he…?_

“Either way, I’d have to say the verdict’s the same,” Totsuka went on, as if oblivious to the mood. He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes, a pleased smile forming on his lips. “It’s definitely a tie.”

Misaki’s hand froze. “Eh?”

Fushimi felt his lip curl up with displeasure. “What…?”

“That’s right! A tie.” Totsuka opened his eyes, glancing between them with that infuriatingly knowing gaze. “The same locations, matching angles – even the same degree of feeling and effort put into each picture…” He shrugged, shaking his head. “Can’t be anything else besides a tie, right?”

_Are you serious?_ Fushimi glanced up, met Misaki’s equally disgruntled expression, and let out a sharp, resigned breath. He could hear the answering sigh from across the table even as he did.

“Again…” Misaki sounded more than a little put out. He slumped a bit where he was standing. “We’ve probably got more ties than actual wins by now!”

“The same amount,” Fushimi corrected him automatically. “Four ties. Two wins for you. Two wins for me.”

Totsuka chuckled. “That’s a lot of ties. Sounds to me like you’re in sync after all!”

Fushimi shot him a flat, unimpressed look, and got back a bright smile for his effort.

_Really, that’s annoying…_

Misaki made a face. “C’mon, Totsuka-san! Quit – ” He was interrupted by a sneeze, and rubbed his nose absently, frowning – “teasing.”

Fushimi eyed him critically for a second. He didn’t seem to be dripping as much, but his clothing was still noticeably wet. “Shouldn’t you get changed?”

“Yeah, yeah. At home.” Misaki shrugged that off again. “Not like I keep any clothes here.”

“You sure? I’ll bet there’s something you could borrow.” Totsuka shot him a look of mild concern. “Be careful, Yata – you’ll catch a cold.”

Misaki grinned back. “Nah, don’t worry ‘bout me – I never get sick.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Totsuka smiled in response. “You should really get yourself an umbrella, you know.”

“I got one already – just didn’t expect it to rain today, that’s all.”

“The forecast called for it,” Fushimi pointed out, without inflection.

Misaki scowled at him. “Yeah, I didn’t check it, okay? _My bad_.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Trying not to think about it too closely, Fushimi picked up the umbrella he’d leaned against a chair, grasping the middle of it and holding it out handle-first. “Here. Take it.”

He got a blank look in response – and then Misaki abruptly frowned. “Aren’t you gonna need it?”

“I’m going back to work – it’s not that far, and we keep spare umbrellas.” Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Also, unlike you, I do have a change of clothes.”

If anything, the frown on Misaki’s face deepened, his eyes narrowing in counterpart. “You look like the kinda guy who gets sick easy…”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. That was uncomfortably close to the truth – not that he was about to admit it. “Just go ahead and take it before I change my mind.”

“Go ahead and change your mind, then!” Misaki crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t need it.”

This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Fushimi frowned back. “Oi… I’m not the one dripping all over the floor here, idiot.”

Misaki scowled at him. “Yeah, and I’m not the _idiot_ who probably gets a cold every other week.”

“Now, now.” Totsuka raised both hands, as if to placate them. “You guys don’t need to fight – I’ll bet if we call Fushimi-kun’s workplace, someone would come by with a spare umbrella.” He turned his deceptively innocent smile on Misaki. “Nothing wrong with accepting a little kindness when it’s offered, right, Yata?”

“Huh? I…” That seemed to throw Misaki off – he stared at Totsuka for a moment, blinking slowly, and then reached up to rub at his neck again with clear agitation. “Ugh.” When he looked at Fushimi again, his expression was strangely tentative. “R-right, yeah. Got it.” He reached out to take the umbrella, a hint of color rising on his cheeks. “Thanks.”

It was such an endearing face that Fushimi nearly forgot his earlier annoyance. He shrugged, fighting back the tiny swirl of pleasure at the response. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s the spirit,” Totsuka praised him encouragingly.

The unnaturally bright smile didn’t seem as irritating that time.


	10. Chapter 10

Yata woke with his head pounding and his skin feeling clammy, as if he’d just run a marathon in his sleep. He turned his head on his pillow, squinting at the edge of the futon, behind which the alarm on his phone was blaring. His vision blurred out and didn’t seem to want to clear at first, the meager details of his tiny apartment swimming in front of his eyes no matter how much he blinked. He felt exhausted.

_Fuck… not enough sleep again?_ He pushed himself up on his hands, elbows nearly buckling with the effort. His limbs felt even more heavy and weak than they had yesterday – by contrast, his head felt light and puffed up. There was a dull ache throbbing at the back of it. _Or, what? I’m sick?_

Goddamnit… It had to happen after he’d bragged about never getting sick yesterday, huh? Yata scowled, rubbing his eyes to clear them. It seemed to work – the room wasn’t spinning any more, and his brain cleared a bit, the last haze of sleep finally lifting. He didn’t have the urge to cough or sneeze, and other than the headache and just feeling more tired and weak than usual, it didn’t seem like there was much wrong with him.

_Kusnaagi-san probably has some painkillers._ Yata reached out to turn off the alarm on his phone, frowning at it for a second in thought. He felt okay – he’d gone to Homra in worse shape back in the day, when they were getting into scuffles with other gangs and stuff. If he had a cold, Kusanagi would’ve said not to come in in case he got Anna sick, but this didn’t _feel_ like a cold. He was just overly tired.

Plus, there was that one other thing… Yata looked up towards the corner of the room, where he’d set the umbrella that Saruhiko had lent him. As Totsuka had reminded him, it was obviously an attempt to do something nice, and thinking about it like that rather than as a hit to his pride had given him a little rush of pleasure. _He was thinking about me, right? Like, he cared, or something…_

It still gave him that little squirming feeling of hope and happiness in the pit of his stomach. Yata allowed himself a tiny smile. _“I’ll pick it up when I get my coffee,”_ Saruhiko had said when they parted ways, and he’d been anticipating that all night before going to bed – and even for a while afterward – partly anxious and partly excited.

After yesterday – the pictures, and then the umbrella, and the way Saruhiko looked at him sometimes – well… he was starting to think maybe his feelings weren’t totally hopeless. _Maybe_. It was kind of a long shot. What the hell did he know about romance, after all? And he wasn’t really sure what to do about it or how to find out besides making a fool of himself.

… But then, maybe he did need to suck it up, swallow his pride, and make a damn fool of himself.

The thought was nerve-wracking, but also… kinda exciting.

Yata swallowed hard. He hadn’t made up his mind or anything yet. Hell, it wasn’t like he had to do it right away. There was no time limit for this crap. Probably.

_I’ll think about it later._ When he wasn’t sick. Tired. Whatever. Yata pushed himself painstakingly to his feet, determined not to let it get to him.

He kinda wished the universe would give him a sign or something, but it wasn’t like that was going to happen any time soon.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Confess a hidden feeling’.

_Are you serious?_ Fushimi stared at the challenge board, nonplussed.

Once again, the tone had changed. He was starting to think that multiple people were behind these challenges. It would explain how things had gone from sadistic to cheeky to whimsical and now to a straightforward, almost innocent tone. There was always the possibility that the person’s whims just changed on a day-to-day basis, but the more he considered the idea of multiple writers, the more likely it seemed.

With that in mind, he actually had even further suspicions…

_Not that it changes anything._ He was still going to be faced with the improbable and highly annoying prospect of coming up with some hidden feeling to confess. Seriously, the intent behind the challenge was so blatant and unsubtle, it was almost childish. The ‘confess’ part gave off the very clear feeling of a high school love confession, even more so with ‘hidden feeling’ tacked on.

It was as if the challenge was coming right out and saying ‘confess to your crush today’. Which was beyond annoying. Almost in the realm of ‘downright infuriating’.

_There’s no way I’m doing that, regardless._

Briefly, he had to wonder if Misaki might…

The thought of Misaki confessing to some unknown crush was an unpleasant one. Fushimi clicked his tongue, turning away from the challenge board deliberately. _If he does, it’s got nothing to do with me,_ he reminded himself, frowning as he stepped away in the opposite direction of his workplace.

He still needed to get a coffee and collect the umbrella from yesterday. When he’d walked by Homra on his way to work, it hadn’t been Misaki at the counter, so he’d continued on without stopping. Scepter 4 was nearly ready to open for business, though, which meant deliveries would start soon and that meant Misaki was likely to be on shift.

The prospect of seeing him still sent a small, pleasant shiver through Fushimi’s frame. Rather than block it out, he shut his eyes briefly and allowed it to run its course.

Even if it was unrequited, he might as well take those fleeting good feelings where he could.

The walk to Homra was relatively short; it was less than ten minutes later when Fushimi was walking through the door and Kamamoto’s smooth-toned voice greeted him with, “Welcome to Homra – oh, Fushimi, hey!”

Misaki had his back to the counter; he gave a noticeable little jolt at the words and turned sharply, a grin already spreading on his face and a large take-out cup in his hand. “Yo, Saruhiko! Good timing!”

His face was noticeably flushed, Fushimi noticed, stepping up to the counter to meet him as Kamamoto backed out of the way. There was a sluggishness to his movements that didn’t seem normal, either. “Did you get sick after all?”

The way that Misaki stopped in his tracks, eyes widening, might as well have been confirmation. Fushimi clicked his tongue. _Of course he got sick. He was standing out there in the rain for who knows how long._ “Who was it who said last night that he never gets sick, hm?”

“Shut up,” Miskai muttered, scowling back. “S’not that big a deal – m’just tired, is all.” He held out the cup in his hand as if to distract from the conversation. “Here – large double Americano. That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Fushimi reached out to take it from him, feeling a tiny spark when their hands brushed. Looking up at Misaki’s eyes, he could see the signs of illness – that slightly glassy look was obvious when you were looking for it. “You should have stayed home and rested, stupid.”

“Heh! Don’t underestimate me.” Misaki offered back a cocky grin, looking slightly more energetic. “This is nothing! Anyway, there’s no way I’m handing you that challenge by default!”

_That’s not a good reason to push things._ Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning back. Considering how insistent Misaki could be about everyone else’s well-being, he was remarkably lax when it came to his own. “I’m not interested in winning against someone who’s sick. We could’ve skipped today and added an extra day at the end.”

“I told you, s’no big deal. ” Misaki braced his hands on his hips, returning the frown stubbornly for a second. “I got this.”

Off to the side, Kamamoto coughed uncomfortably. “Yata-san, I don’t think – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard what you think already!” Misaki dismissed that interruption impatiently, turning the other way to reach under the counter for something. “Also, here.” He held the borrowed umbrella out. “And, uh, thanks.” That came with an awkward shrug and a strangely tentative look. “For, y’know. Letting me use it.”

_It doesn’t seem like it helped either way._ Still, Fushimi reached out to take it with his free hand. “It’s nothing.”

Misaki offered him back a surprisingly warm smile at that, traces of something that looked almost like fondness laced through it. “Yeah, you always say that.”

A rush of warmth flooded through Fushimi’s body; he turned his gaze down towards his cup, unable to handle looking into those bright eyes for too long. He already wanted to reach out and touch Misaki’s flushed face – to try and gauge something about his illness from the heat of his skin. There was that urge rising up within him again: the almost unrecognizable drive to take care of another person. It was one of those things that probably came naturally to most people, but it wasn’t like he’d felt it often, and it was a little awkward trying to decide exactly what to do with it.

Setting aside that bewildering feeling for the moment, he put down his coffee, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “I didn’t bring change. Card is fine, right?”

Misaki waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s a ‘thanks for the favor’ coffee.”

Fushimi glanced up at him sharply, and got a grin in response. He clicked his tongue. “I didn’t do it for thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you got some anyway!” Misaki’s grin widened, eyebrows coming down to make it more of a smirk. “Whatever, just take it.”

That was kind of annoying… but there was something strangely satisfying in it as well. Fushimi picked up the cup again, letting out a short breath. “Well, I don’t really feel like arguing with a sick person.”

“I’m not even that sick, c’mon.” Misaki shot him a disgruntled look and then sighed, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. When he raised his eyes, his expression was that odd tentative one again. “Did you… I mean, yeah, you had to – you saw the challenge, right?”

The reminder was enough to sour his mood. Fushimi clicked his tongue again. “I saw it.”

“Right, yeah. So…” Misaki let the hand slide around to the side of his neck, something oddly vulnerable in his eyes. “What d’you think of it?”

Fushimi blinked, taken aback by the question. Something in him responded to that look, too; he felt the borderline painful little squeeze as he met the gaze, unable to bring himself to turn his own away this time. Misaki’s eyes were bright – maybe a little too bright; he probably had a bit of a fever – and somehow hopeful.

It was moderately intimidating. How was he supposed to meet those expectations when he didn’t even know what they were? “Nothing much,” he responded, a bit warily. “It’s less vague than yesterday, at least.” He clicked his tongue again, reminded of what had irritated him initially. “On the other hand, I don’t exactly have anything I particularly feel like confessing.”

“O-oh.” Misaki grimaced, hand twitching slightly at the side of his neck. He slid his gaze away, a small rueful smile forming on his lips. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Just – just checking, y’know?” He barked out a short, obviously forced laugh. “Guess we both gotta come up with something, huh?”

So he’d obviously said the wrong thing – not that it was clear what the ‘right’ thing might’ve been. Fushimi narrowed his eyes. “Well, I’ll let you figure it out for yourself.” _It never said that I needed to confess the feeling to the person it’s directed at, did it?_ He could confess it to Hidaka, who basically already knew – which would still be annoying, but tolerable. “I should get back to work.”

Misaki shot him a glance as he was turning, looking troubled. Fushimi would’ve stopped when their eyes met, but that gaze didn’t linger, already sliding away from him before they could exchange more than a brief moment of contact. “Yeah… See ya.”

Somehow, the subdued expression and tone of voice didn’t seem to be the result of his less than perfect health. Fushimi hesitated for another second, feeling torn, and then deliberately pushed it aside to move for the door again.

He was already mentally sifting through what was planned for the day to try and find timing and excuses for another visit even as he started back to his workplace.

 

* * *

 

 

Yata sat down heavily on the couch in the back room, letting out a long breath and slumping forward over his knees. His head was heavy and hot, his limbs were aching, and his breathing felt like it was scratching at the back of his throat.

_Three more hours._ That was when his shift ended and Shouhei took over deliveries in his place. Usually he’d hang out and keep doing them, since he could get there and back faster on his skateboard, but he wasn’t gonna push that far today. He’d already been asked if he was all right too many times – he didn’t like the idea of letting anyone down, but worrying them wasn’t the greatest feeling, either.

There was still the challenge to think about, though. Yata opened his eyes, staring blurrily at the floor for a moment as the world swam around him. It was hard to really think when his head was spinning like this, but he didn’t have much of a fucking choice. This was important.

Was he gonna confess to Saruhiko or not?

Just the idea was freaking him out, which was kind of annoying. He’d asked the universe for a sign, and it _gave_ him one, and now here he was wimping out. He was feeling a bit disgusted with himself for that. What kind of man was he if he couldn’t even handle a stupid confession? He should just _do_ it and take whatever answer Saruhiko gave him.

On the other hand, it wasn’t like Saruhiko had looked super enthusiastic about the whole confessing thing. The idea of doing his best and putting all of his feelings out there and then getting back one of those annoyed, flat looks was seriously making Yata’s stomach feel like it was dropping out. He wasn’t too sure how he’d deal with a reaction like that, honestly.

It was fucking scary, this whole romance business.

But if he didn’t confess to Saruhiko, then what the hell _was_ he gonna confess? He had to do something for this challenge, and it wasn’t like he kept a lot of secrets. It was starting to make his head hurt, trying to figure all this stuff out, and he was already having trouble.

_Just… keep it together, c’mon. You can do this._

A light touch brushed against his hand, interrupting those muddled thoughts, and Yata tipped his head up with effort. Anna had bent forward in front of him and was peering at him intently from just a short distance away.

He immediately jolted upright in his seat, a little shock running through him at the unexpected close proximity. “A-Anna!” The surprise settled almost immediately, allowing him to slump back, skin still feeling prickled up, and let out his breath in a long whoosh. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I’m sorry.” She straightened, eyes still fixed on him even as she put some distance between them. “Are you all right?”

There was that question again. Yata dredged up a grin in response, hoping it looked sincere enough. “I’m good, don’t worry! This is nothing.” Hoping that was going to be the end of it, he quickly went on, “You need something?”

Anna shook her head. “It’s your thoughts.” She lifted her hand and brushed her finger lightly against his temple. “I can see you struggling. It’s not good to suffer alone.” Sadness crept into her expression, soft regret filling her eyes. “You already know that, Misaki.”

He did know that. Yata swallowed. “Yeah.” _It’s not something you forget easy._ “It’s nothing like that, though – don’t worry.”

She offered him a small smile. “I know.” Stepping off to the side, she sat down in the armchair adjacent to him. “You’re thinking about the challenge. About confessing.”

It was kind of amazing how she could do that. Yata blinked, fever-clouded thoughts scrambling to keep up with the conversation. “Ah… right.” He reached up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess it’s obvious, huh?”

“It’s fine.” Anna’s smile widened, eyes warming. “Being open like that is one of your strengths.” There was a short pause, and then she went on. “I also think that if you have hidden feelings, it’s best to confess them. It bothers you to hold them in, doesn’t it?”

_Got me there._ Being straightforward had always suited him best. He didn’t feel right when he couldn’t take action on something that was bugging him. “I guess.” Still… “It’s just… it’s sorta complicated.” He offered a small, rueful smile in response. “Another thing I’m not good at dealing with, huh?”

Anna leaned against the arm of the chair. “I think that your way of dealing with those things is good. Finding a simple answer is sometimes harder.” Her gaze was surprisingly earnest. “Misaki, you need confidence in yourself. You have many good points.” She balled her small hands into soft fists. “You can do it; I believe in you.”

An extra wave of heat rushed up to his face at that; Yata stared back, feeling strangely light-headed. “Eh? But – I dunno – I mean, it’s not – it’s just – ”

The intensity of her gaze seemed to increase. “No one could be dissatisfied with your confession if you put all of your power into it. Don’t worry. It will work out.”

“O-oh.” _I’m not really good with this stuff either…_ It was kinda awkward, even coming from Anna. Yata shrugged a bit jerkily, feeling as if his brain had overheated and stuttered out. “Th-thanks.” He wasn’t sure what to think about this conversation at all, but… well, it did feel kinda good, in a way. Somehow, he was able to summon a grin in response. _At least Anna thinks I’m worth dating._ Or something like that, anyway. “I guess… I’d better give it my all, then, huh?”

Somehow, saying it out loud felt like it made everything real. That was it, then. That settled it.

He was gonna confess to Saruhiko after all.

_All right…_ Yata took in a breath, trying to expel all of the shitty feelings when he let it out, and clenched his clammy hands into fists, tensing with mingled anxiety and excitement. It was like getting ready for a brawl or something, but at least some of the energy that had been drained by his fever seemed to return.

_All right! I can do this. I’m cool. I got it. Just wait!_

Anna smiled back at him, looking pleased. “Good. I think this will definitely make you happy, Misaki.” After a brief pause, she added, “And I think Saruhiko will be happy, too.”

“Yeah!” He grinned back without fully grasping the implications of that – and then did a double take, eyes widening. “W-wait – did you say – ?” _She definitely said ‘Saruhiko’, right? I wasn’t just hearing things?_ Yata gaped at her in shock, feeling his head start to spin dangerously again. “But how – how did you – ?”

She slid out of her chair, pausing just long enough to direct her small, bright smile at him once more and then added a sincere, “Good luck,” before turning to head back toward the front.

“Wait… A-Anna…?” His voice came out too weak; he wasn’t sure if it was the fever or the shock that was still prickling under his skin, but his whole body felt clammy now. Yata let out a low moan, expelling all of his breath in one go, and slumped forward again over his knees. “Shit.”

_I really am that obvious, huh?_

 

* * *

 

 

“Uh, yeah,” was Hidaka’s sheepish response. “I figured that out already, Fushimi-san.” He added in an encouraging smile. “But thanks for telling me! I’m flattered that you’d trust me that much.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning slightly in response. “It’s for the challenge,” he pointed out flatly. “I didn’t particularly want to tell anyone about it.”

This was exactly the reason, too: this response. He knew that he had a place here with these people and that they respected him – even liked him, to some degree. He was content with that. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but having people who were important to him – close to him – was… nice. But that didn’t mean he wanted to start talking about ‘feelings’ or having emotional moments. Understated closeness was more within his comfort zone.

Unfortunately, Hidaka tended to prefer the former approach most of the time.

_Maybe I should’ve done this with Akiyama instead…_

It was too late to correct that tactical error now. “Well, I can understand that,” Hidaka responded with a bit of a nervous chuckle. “But it’s still nice to be able to open up to people sometimes, right?” His eyes were hopeful. “And we’re your teammates and friends – we’re here for you!”

At one point that cynical little voice in his head might’ve chimed in with, _until you’re not_. Fushimi pushed that thought aside. One thing he’d managed to learn, painstakingly, was that reacting negatively to everything could be just as pointless as reacting positively to everything. He was still struggling with maintaining that balance. “That’s all I needed,” he responded without addressing the rest, stepping around Hidaka towards the break room door. “I’m going back to work. Thanks for your time.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course! No problem.” There was only a tiny hint of disappointment in Hidaka’s response. “Anyway, good luck for when you confess to Yata – I’ll be rooting for you!”

That was enough to stop him right in his tracks, blood momentarily running cold. Fushimi clicked his tongue. “I’m not doing that, so don’t bother.”

“Eh? Wait – you’re _not?_ ” Hidaka sounded astonished. “But – Fushimi-san – the challenge…”

_Are you serious?_ Fushimi turned, fixing his co-worker with a flat stare. “That’s why I confessed it to _you_ , remember?”

“Really?” Hidaka blinked at him, clearly surprised. “I figured that was a practice run, actually…”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “What kind of practice run would that be?” His exact phrasing had been, ‘I have to make a confession for the sake of this annoying challenge. So I might as well just tell you that I have feelings for Misaki.’ He didn’t exactly know what constituted a proper confession of romantic intent, but at the very least, he was fairly sure _that_ wouldn’t be it. “Even an idiot wouldn’t use that wording.”

Hidaka gave an awkward shrug. “Well… I mean, everyone starts somewhere…”

“Nobody in their right mind would start with that.” Though sometimes he questioned whether the people around him were really in their right mind to begin with. Fushimi let out a short, irritated breath, half turning again. “Anyway, if it comes down to it, I’ll need you to confirm that I completed the challenge.”

“No problem – I can do that.” Hidaka hesitated for a brief moment, and then seemed to make up his mind and plunged onward. “You should think about confessing, though, Fushimi-san. If Yata does it before you, he’d probably end up winning, right?”

There was that unpleasant reminder again – the possibility that Misaki might have someone to confess to, and that he might do it, and that the person in question might take it well. Fushimi turned fully, closing his eyes. The prospect was painful, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t considered it. Misaki wasn’t like him at all in that sense. Despite being crude, brash and short-tempered, he was honest and full of life. Easily liked and even more easily loved. Even if it didn’t happen now, eventually it was more or less inevitable.

_Can’t help that, can I?_ “Assuming he happens to have a person he feels like confessing to.”

Something about the pause that followed was awkward. “Uh… Fushimi-san…” Hidaka cleared his throat, almost self-consciously. “I’m not sure how exactly to say this to you, but – ”

“Don’t say it, then,” Fushimi cut him off, abruptly irritated with the conversation, and stepped forward to open the door to the break room as he’d intended earlier. He definitely wasn’t interested in anyone’s pity. “I’m going back to work.”

“Wait – no – I mean – Fushimi-s – ”

The swift closing of the door effectively cut that fumbling addition off.

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of Yata’s shift, it really felt like the resolution Anna had given him was the only thing keeping him going. He didn’t even clearly remember the details of his last delivery, which was probably kinda dangerous considering he’d definitely skated there and back, but he wasn’t injured and he hadn’t run anyone over, so it was probably fine.

Hopefully.

“Yata-chan…” It sounded like Kusanagi’s voice was coming from the end of a tunnel. He’d been out of the shop for most of the day for one of Totsuka’s therapy sessions, so this was the first time they’d actually seen each other. The expression on his face was one of mild surprise. “Have you been doing deliveries like this all day?”

Yata tried to shrug it off with a grin. His brain felt hot and hazy. “No big deal – I’m fine, y’know – ”

“He’s not,” Eric cut him off, dryly.

“We’ve been trying to get him to stop all day,” Kamamoto chimed in, sounding slightly aggrieved. “He’s gotta rest or something – Kusanagi-san, you tell him!”

Yata did his best to glare at them. “Hey, what the hell? I said I’m _fine_ , goddamnit – !”

Kusanagi let out what sounded like a long-suffering sigh. “Yata-chan… Much as I respect your right to make your own bad decisions, you have to learn to mind your limits.” He set a hand down on Yata’s shoulder, both friendly and firm, expression a mixture of exasperation and resignation. “Give yourself a break once in a while, huh?”

“Ah…” It was the look on his face more than the words that really sank home. Since he’d started trying to understand the people around him, Yata had sorta come to terms with what Kusanagi had gone through during everything that had happened. It wasn’t like he grasped all of it, but what he did see gave him more insight into why his older friend had that habit of looking out for everyone. _I’m making everyone worry, huh?_ Yata slumped, feeling like the fight drained out of him at that. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize – rest up and get better.” Kusanagi shook his head, expression wry. “If you want to wait in the back for fifteen or so, I’ll give you a lift home – how’s that sound?”

_Fifteen…_ He still needed to confess to Saruhiko, and it was only mid-afternoon; no way was he done at Scepter 4, and Yata wasn’t sure about the odds of him being able to take a break. His head was starting to throb and there was cold sweat building on his skin, but… still… “Can it wait? I got one more thing I need to do.”

Kusanagi gave him a keen look, as if he could read the thoughts going through Yata’s head. “Well, I’m not in a hurry. Just don’t push yourself, all right?”

“Yeah. Got it.” Yata managed a small, sheepish grin in response, and moved to lift the counter so he could get to the back room.

He was fumbling in his pocket for his phone before he’d made it to the break area, and bringing up the message screen by the time he slumped down onto the couch. His vision was kinda getting blurry, but he was able to type just the same.

‘hey can we meet up?’

He figured the response would take a while, so he was shutting his eyes and leaning his head back against the cough for a short rest when his phone buzzed in his hand.

‘What for?’

Somehow, that pulled up a smile. _Suspicious son of a bitch._ ‘need to talk to you’, he typed back, and waited this time.

‘All right. Where?’

Yata blinked at his phone for a second, surprised. _Didn’t expect that…_ Saruhiko always seemed like he was super busy at work – or, at least, he got annoyed about being disturbed when he was working. The fact that he was willing to just come out right away like this was… honestly, kinda cool. It felt good.

And nerve-wracking. Yata swallowed, feeling his skin prickle and a little jolt of anxiety stir up in his stomach. This meant he was gonna be confessing _soon_. He thought he’d still have at least an hour or two, but… well, apparently not.

_Whatever, just don’t think about it._ ‘can you come to homra?’

‘I’m leaving now.’

_Now…_

Yata shut his eyes, willing his tired brain to wake up and get back in the game. He could do this. He’d been thinking since his break about how to confess to Saruhiko – with mixed success, but whatever – and now he was gonna do it. _I got this. It’s cool. I’m good._

His stomach was doing some pretty unmanly flip-flops, but he had the determination he needed, and that was all that mattered.

_Bring it on!_

With that thought, he was able to push himself to his feet and head back out to the front.

Saruhiko didn’t keep him waiting long – although Yata was starting to get a little fuzzy about how much time was passing, so he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to tell the difference. He’d been paying attention to the door, though, so he noticed immediately when Saruhiko arrived. It caused his skin to prickle up and his stomach – which had settled into something like quiet uneasiness – to spike back into full anxiety mode.

_Just… keep it together, okay? You got this._

Saruhiko looked a little startled when Yata got up from his chair to meet him; he raised an eyebrow after that split second passed. “You look like you should be resting.”

It was kinda hard for Yata to tell whether he felt more gratified or annoyed by the concern. He settled for frowning back, waving a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna. In a bit.”

Saruhiko’s expression was dubious. Those light blue eyes somehow felt like they sent a wave of cool through Yata’s body; he couldn’t help but shiver a little under that gaze. “What did you need to talk about?”

Moment of truth. Though… Yata glanced at the counter, where Eric and Kamamoto were both serving customers. _Not sure I wanna do this in front of everyone._ “Let’s go outside.” Almost immediately, it occurred to him that outside the _front_ probably wasn’t any more private. “I mean, through the back. C’mon.” He turned to lift the counter.

He could practically _feel_ the hesitation behind him. “Am I even allowed back there?” Saruhiko drawled.

“Yeah, f’course.” Yata looked back over his shoulder to offer a shrug and as much of a grin as he could muster. “Kusanagi-san and Anna both know you, so why not? Plus, I’m shift supervisor, so I get some say here. No problem.”

“If you say so.” Saruhiko moved to follow him, waiting for Yata to go through the door into the back first. “Shift supervisor? Really?”

“Huh? I didn’t tell you?” Not like it was anything special, but still… He led the way through the tiny kitchen and the break room, towards the door that led into the alleyway behind the building. “Guess it never came up. Yeah, next to Anna and Kusanagi-san, I’m in charge here.”

He was expecting some kind of sarcastic remark – a dig like ‘they really put you in charge of people?’ or ‘I guess there was no one else, huh?’ – so it caught him off guard when, after a brief pause, Saruhiko commented, “That makes sense.”

Yata paused with his hand outstretched, not even quite reaching the doorknob, feeling another rush of heat that didn’t feel fever this time rushing through him. He turned back around, too astonished and confused to manage more than, “Huh?”

Saruhiko tilted his head questioningly, raising an eyebrow again in response. “Any casual observer could see it. You work the same job as the others, but they talk to and about you with a certain amount of respect. Also, I get the impression from Kusanagi-san and Anna that they place a lot of trust on you.” Almost as an afterthought, he added blandly, “Probably because your strong points compliment theirs. That’s ideal in a management team.”

_He noticed all that?_ Yata swallowed, feeling a bit light-headed as he stared back. It was… kinda dry and delivered in a weirdly logical tone, but it was a compliment all the same. Even through the fever-warmth on his skin, he could feel a blush rising. “R-right…” He let out a shaky breath, thrown off his game and more keyed up than ever. “Yeah. Uh. Th-thanks.”

Saruhiko’s gaze slid away from his, lips turning down slightly in what almost looked like more of a pout than a frown. “It’s just an observation.”

“Yeah, sure.” Okay, _that_ he could handle. And… in a way, it was sorta cute. _He’s got all kinds of sides to him, huh?_ Yata managed a rueful smile, turning back to the door again. “Well, thanks all the same – it’s kinda nice hearing stuff like that once in a while, y’know?”

There was no response to that, but it was cool. Saruhiko had said something nice about him, so he had to at least like Yata a little. As a friend, right? Probably not more, but at least he wasn’t likely to scoff at Yata’s confession. The past couple of days made that seem unlikely. Hopefully.

Trying to push down the anxious mix of dread and anticipation growing in his stomach, Yata pushed open the door and led the way out into the alley, kicking the doorstop into place with his foot so they didn’t get trapped outside.

There wasn’t a lot of space behind Homra, but it wasn’t a grimy mess, at least. There was some graffiti on the walls and the echo of tobacco in the air, but no rank smells or grease stains. Just pavement and dull buildings. You couldn’t reach it from the sidewalk due to the way the buildings were arranged, so it pretty much guaranteed privacy most of the time. He’d come out here with Kusanagi once in a while when the place was being renovated to discuss some stuff.

So… it wasn’t the greatest place for a confession, but hell, it was quiet and no one was gonna listen in, and that was pretty much all they needed, right?

“So?” Saruhiko prompted, as Yata finished collecting his thoughts. When he turned around, he found himself being regarded with mild curiosity. “I’m guessing this is something to do with your challenge confession.”

Yata’s heart just about stopped; he gaped back, shocked. “H-how…?”

“It’s the logical assumption.” Saruhiko shrugged slightly, both his gaze and tone of voice bland. “You’ve never wanted to talk privately before. The only difference between today and any other day is the challenge, so it made sense to assume that.” He tipped his head forward, gazing up through his lashes in that unconsciously coy way he sometimes did. “So? What kind of confession is it?”

_He didn’t guess?_ The majority of the tension from that shock seemed to drain out of Yata at once, making his shoulders slump. He shut his eyes and let out a sigh, trying to let the rest of it go. His stomach was in knots and his skin was clammy; he really couldn’t tell if it was the fever or his nerves. It probably didn’t fucking matter at this point. There was black ringing the outside of his vision when he opened his eyes, but he did his best to ignore that too, stubbornly raising his gaze to meet Saruhiko’s again.

_Okay! Let’s do this!_

“Right. So, uh.” The words stuck in his throat at first, brain scrambling a bit as it tried to draw up what he’d planned to say. It was harder now, with Saruhiko right in front of him, looking somehow better than ever – aside from just his beautiful eyes, his bangs draped fetchingly over his forehead, and the contrast between the dark hair and pale skin was striking. Yata had never wanted to reach out and touch him more – to feel the fine lines of his face and run his thumb over those thin lips. The urge was swirling at the back of his chest like a storm, barely contained; he swallowed again and tried to focus. “You – you look good. Y’know. I mean, you always… Yeah. That’s – that’s not really want I want to – ”

He was floundering. _Fuck._ Yata shut his mouth and took in a frustrated breath, noticing the way that Saruhiko’s eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. “Goddamnit,” he muttered under his breath, reaching up to scratch at the back back of his head with agitation. “I just… I sorta… like – like you… I mean – ”

Despite the fact that he’d mumbled it, the words seemed to stand out sharply in the still alleyway. Yata felt heat rising to his face, head already feeling light enough to detach from his body and drift off. He scrambled to clarify. “I fucking… I like you, like… more than friends, okay? Like, I wanna kiss your stupid face – I mean. _Fuck!_ ” It was coming out all wrong, and he sounded lame; he could barely focus now outside of the panicked beating of his heart and the white showing around the blue circles in Saruhiko’s eyes. “It – it’s not stupid, it’s nice. I mean, I like it. I like _you_. Got it?”

For that single, tense instant, Saruhiko didn’t even move. His mouth was open, eyes wide and wary, almost like a cornered animal’s. The muscles in his throat moved visibly when he swallowed, and there was an undertone of bewilderment in his voice when he finally spoke. “Misaki…?”

“Sorry! I just – ” Yata’s head was starting to weigh down – by sharp contrast to the earlier lightness, he now felt like he was getting heavier by the second. He couldn’t tell if the reaction was good or bad, and his brain was starting to spin. It was hard to think. “I…” Acting on the spur of the moment, he reached out sluggishly to take hold of Saruhiko’s vest, leaning in as he tugged down. “I kinda…” There was no resistance; when he tilted his head up, he thought he felt a trace of that ghost breath from before against his lips. “… wanted to…” An almost painful anxiety twisted at the pit of his stomach, but it was like he was experiencing it from a distance. “… to…”

The black at the edge of his vision had encompassed the entire world; the last thing Yata felt was the sensation of plummeting forward and then everything faded out.

 

* * *

 

 

It normally didn’t take Fushimi very long to process anything that happened around him, but for some reason the past couple of minutes seemed to have impaired his brain.

Misaki had… confessed to him. _“I like you,”_ he’d said. _“More than friends,”_ had been the clarification. There wasn’t much room for error, regardless of how much certain parts of Fushimi’s brain would have preferred to cynically assume that a mistake had been made.

They’d nearly kissed – again – or rather, Misaki had nearly kissed him. Not that he’d done much to prevent it. In fact, even with the unusual lag in his thought process, the excited twinge of infatuation had made it through just fine. Anticipation had coiled up fast in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

… And then Misaki had passed out, his face planting heavily against Fushimi’s chest, nearly causing him to overbalance and fall back. He’d had to bring up his arms instinctively to catch him.

_Seriously? This is really a thing that just happened, right now?_

It was almost unbelievable, and Fushimi _still_ hadn’t quite processed it beyond the shock. He honestly had no idea what to think or feel in that moment. Misaki was slack and heavy against him, the heat from his fevered skin seeping through Fushimi’s work clothing, and his breathing was labored. Obviously, his body’s attempts to fight off whatever virus was attacking him had finally reached a tipping point.

Worry overrode the confusion impeding his thoughts. “Misaki,” he said urgently, sliding one arm under Misaki’s armpit and trying to lift him a bit so he could tip his head back with the other. It was an awkward endeavor. There was a surprising amount of mass to him considering his short stature and slight build, but then, Fushimi had seen him shirtless, and… Well, that wasn’t important. Misaki was dead to the world, unresponsive even as Fushimi carefully tilted his face up. His eyelids were fluttering slightly but other than that, there was no movement.

_Asleep, then?_ It made sense, from what small amount of medical knowledge Fushimi had cultivated – which wasn’t much, considering how little interest he’d had in it. Misaki had obviously been pushing himself all day, but his body needed that energy to fight off this illness. It was no wonder he’d fainted, too, since he was clearly burning up.

_That idiot…_ Fushimi clicked his tongue, not sure exactly where his annoyance was directed. It fit with what he knew of Misaki’s personality, that he’d act like this kind of thing was nothing. And it was concerning. _Learn to recognize when you reach your limit already!_

Either way, the first thing to do was get him back inside. Fushimi considered the unconscious body in his arms for a moment. Misaki was compact but he was also heavy, and his pliable state made him awkward to manage. It was only a few short feet to the door, which was thankfully still propped open by the stopper that had been wedged in place, and there was a couch not far from there.

If he’d had to go a longer distance, he’d have maneuvered Misaki around and tried to drape him over his back. As it was…

_Well, this will be faster._

Hooking his arms under Misaki’s armpits, he did his best to heft him up, and awkwardly shifted his way towards the door.

It probably looked ridiculous, but it wasn’t like anyone was looking.

At least, that had been the thought – but once he wedged the door open with his shoulder and dragged Misaki inside, he looked up and found Kusanagi glancing towards them at the same moment from behind the couch.

“Fushimi…?” There wasn’t much time to react – that startled gaze shifted to alarm almost immediately as the older man came around towards the door. “What happened?”

“He fainted.” Somehow, he didn’t particularly want Kusanagi to help; with effort, Fushimi hefted Misaki’s weight against his own body, nearly lifting him off the ground and maneuvering him carefully onto the couch. It was more exertion than he’d expected; he braced himself against the back of the couch for a moment, staring down at Misaki’s flushed face and feeling a mix of confusion and concern building in his chest. “It’d probably be a good idea to call a doctor.”

“Right,” Kusanagi agreed, pulling out his phone and rapidly keying something in. “I figure it’s probably exhaustion more than anything, but there’s no point taking chances if it’s come this far. If you don’t mind waiting for a bit…?” He waited for Fushimi’s nod before bringing the device to his ear, stepping away from the couch as he made the call.

The immediate urgency was starting to fade; as Fushimi turned his gaze back to Misaki, the full nature of the conversation they’d just had was starting to sink in again.

_He confessed to me…_ There was something like wonder in that thought. No matter how straightforward and simple it was, the idea filled him with bewilderment. It was difficult to fathom: the fact that Misaki would like him – would find him worth _confessing_ to. He hadn’t allowed himself to even entertain the possibility, and now here it was coming true, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Not that there was anything he _could_ do – Misaki’s current state made any kind of response impossible.

_It figures._

Regardless, Misaki liked him. As awkward as the confession had been – _“I wanna kiss your stupid face”, really?_ – it was real. The knowledge was easing some of that confusion in his brain back, filling the space with cautious but fervent pleasure.

Misaki _liked_ him. His feelings were reciprocated.

That thought alone was staggering. _What now?_ He was the only one out of the two of them who knew that this was mutual – there had been no chance to say or do anything after Misaki’s confession, even if he’d known how to respond.

So… how was this going to work? What was he expected to do in this situation?

Fushimi stared down at Misaki’s face, uncertain. He was sweating and his breathing was still labored, which was worrying. Was it wrong that he was thinking about this, when Misaki was obviously sick? Should he not be happy about it? He reached out hesitantly to brush his fingertips along a flushed cheek, feeling the heat radiating from it before he even made contact.

_Being a hero for just one person…_

He didn’t know how to do it, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to.

“Doctor’s on the way,” Kusanagi announced, and Fushimi jerked back his hand as if he’d had his fingers burned. When he glanced up, he got back a harried smile. “Shouldn’t be too long. He’ll be just fine here if you want to head back to work.”

He probably should do that, actually. Fushimi straightened, glancing once more down at Misaki’s prone form and feeling more than a little reluctant. He was already late – he’d said he was going to step out for just a few minutes – but…

“I can keep you posted if you want,” Kusanagi offered, and he realized he’d let his gaze linger just a bit too long. The expression on the older man’s face was rueful when he looked back up. “I’ve still got your number from back then, you know.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, feeling an uncomfortable warmth rising to his face. “Do whatever you want.” He resisted the urge to look at Misaki again, stepping deliberately away from the couch and pushing down the tiny surge of regret.

“Right, I’ll do that.” There was a note of amusement in Kusanagi’s voice. “Thanks, Fushimi.”

Something occurred to him as he reached the door leading back out into the shop. Fushimi paused, his fingers closing on the handle. “By the way,” he added, without looking back. “When he wakes up… you can tell him he won today’s challenge.”

There was a startled silence from behind him; Fushimi used the moment to pull the door open, escaping through it before he could get any kind of reply.

That was probably enough for now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count update! Don't get too excited, though - it's just a 1200 word epilogue I wrote to wrap things up a little better. I hope you guys enjoy the way this plays out!

There were a jumble of confused impressions running through Yata’s head, and he couldn’t manage to sort out what the hell was going on. His brain seemed to chug along lazily, not concerned with what was real or what was imagined – just kinda throwing whatever at him and leaving it at that.

He was lying on the couch at Homra, and a blurred, sideways view of Kusanagi sitting on one of the armchairs was in his vision. It was impossible to see his expression. “Don’t strain yourself, Yata-chan.”

He was on the futon at his apartment, and the room was empty. Dark. Silent. He had the feverish impression that Homra was still disbanded, everything else had been a dream, and he was truly alone. His eyes stung and spilled over, tears feeling cool against his burning skin.

He was in an unfamiliar bed, and Saruhiko was sitting on the side of it, gazing at him with a strange expression. “Misaki,” he said. The tone made it sound like he had more to add, but nothing else came. His eyes glittered in the dark.

The bed was in the upstairs section of Homra, where Anna lived. Totsuka was bending over him, smiling gently, and Mikoto leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed over his chest. “Good work, Yata,” Totsuka said warmly. “You did it.” Yata made an effort to open his eyes fully and smile back, and then…

He woke up in a moment of jarring disorientation. His head felt fuzzy, and his eyes didn’t want to open at first. It was a struggle to move any part of his body. There was a moment of confused panic, and then the physical certainty of being awake settled and Yata relaxed marginally.

He felt… tired, but it wasn’t the feverish exhaustion from before. This was more of a groggy tired: a normal early-morning kind of thing. Maybe a bit more than usual – okay, a lot more – but he didn’t feel _sick_ any more. His head wasn’t spinning and there was no dull, pounding ache.

Yata opened his eyes.

The room was mostly dark, with just a hint of morning light shining in through the window. His vision adjusted quickly. Like in the last bit of the dream, he was in the upstairs section at the Homra coffee shop – in Anna’s room. He’d only been in there once or twice during renovations, but he recognized it all the same: the closet and the dresser and the tiny vanity that had been a house-warming gift he and the others had chipped in for. The door was closed, and he was alone in the room, lying on the –

_Wait…_

The realization brought him from half-asleep to fully awake almost immediately; Yata’s head shot off the pillow and he was pushing himself up to a sitting position with lightning speed. A closer look at the bed he was in confirmed it; even if he’d been somehow been mistaken about the room, there was no doubt once he caught sight of the airy canopy tied up against the four posts around him.

_I’m – wait – Why am I in Anna’s – ?_

The door opened before he could really react to that thought, light from the hallway framing Kusanagi’s familiar figure. “You’re awake,” his older friend said, after a brief pause, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “Morning, Yata-chan. How are you feeling?”

“Kusanagi-san…” Yata blinked a few times, trying to sort out his thoughts. It felt like everything was coming on too fast. “I’m good, but… what…? Why…?”

“What happened, and why are you here?” Kusanagi filled in helpfully, offering a small smile as he sat down in the chair next to the bed. It was one of the seats from the customer tables, Yata noticed absently. “You fainted, actually. According to the doctor, it’s just a viral infection, but you overdid it by pushing yourself all day when you should’ve been resting up and staying hydrated.” He shook his head. “She recommended having someone monitor your temperature last night, and Anna was strongly against leaving you on the couch. So, here you are.”

There he was – in Anna’s bed. The realization was sinking in, and Yata felt horror growing within him. _I kicked Anna out of her own bed?_ He stared back at Kusanagi, guilt and mortification rising up at the back of his throat. “But… Anna…”

“She’s with Seri-chan,” Kusanagi responded, as calmly as ever. “Don’t worry about it, Yata-chan. They were both pretty enthusiastic about the idea of a girls’ night, and Anna would’ve been upset if you _hadn’t_ taken the bed last night. Just relax, rest up, and be ready to thank her later, hm?”

There were more than a few emotions warring for dominance in Yata’s head, but after a moment of returning Kusanagi’s steady gaze, he felt them start to fizzle out and die one by one. _I really did end up freaking everyone out, huh?_ Feeling abruptly drained, he flopped back against the pillow, letting out a long sigh. “Got it.”

The smile he got in response was an odd blend of rueful and relieved. “If you want to pay her back, make sure you change the sheets and wash that comforter before your shift this afternoon.”

“Yeah, okay.” He was able to muster up a tired grin in response. _This afternoon…_ “Someone switched shifts with me?”

Kusanagi shrugged. “Kamamoto offered before I even asked.”

“Huh.” That wasn’t exactly a surprise, but he was grateful for it. With luck and a bit more rest, he could put this whole mess behind him. _Gotta thank him later._ Not to mention… “Kusanagi-san, you were here overnight, weren’t you? Where’d you sleep?”

“I caught a few winks on the couch here and there.” An amused edge crept into Kusanagi’s smile. “And just to show you a good example, I think I’ll head home and catch up here shortly.” He pushed himself up from the chair. “There’s water on the table beside you – I’d suggest drinking as much of it as you can. The doctor recommended fruit, too – there’s some in the fridge downstairs if you want to help yourself later. And don’t forget to change the sheets.”

“Yeah, got it. Thanks, Kusanagi-san.” Despite everything, he couldn’t help but grin again at the casual fussing. “Anything else?”

“Hm.” Kusanagi gave him a thoughtful look. “One thing, actually. Before he left, Fushimi said to tell you that you won yesterday’s challenge.”

“Yesterday’s challenge?” Yata repeated, frowning back in puzzlement. _What the hell was yesterday’s challenge again?_ As he thought back, wracking his brain, the realization came all in a rush.

‘Confess a hidden feeling.’

Anna’s encouragement.

His resolution.

Confessing – fucking _confessing_ , saying ‘I like you’ and everything – to Saruhiko.

_… Shit._

“Well, I’ll just leave it there,” Kusanagi said tactfully, into the mortified silence. He offered a half-amused, half-reassuring smile, and turned to head for the door. “Take it easy today, Yata-chan.”

Yata barely heard him. The memories were coming back in full force now, clear and concise despite how muddled his thoughts had been at the time. _Can’t believe I fucking said some of that shit…_ “’I wanna kiss your stupid face’,” he muttered under his breath as the door shut, feeling his face flare up with embarrassed heat and reaching up to smack his hand over it. “Fuck.”

He didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to face Saruhiko now.

_He never responded, did he?_ Not that Yata had given him much chance, fainting like a complete fuckup in the middle of everything. _Goddamnit …_ He’d totally messed the whole thing up. All he remembered of Saruhiko’s reaction was that he’d looked surprised.

_Yeah, no shit._ That wasn’t much to go on; who wouldn’t be surprised, getting a confession out of nowhere? And from another guy too. It wasn’t the kind of thing that happened every day. So, yeah, the reaction made sense. No clues there.

Yata slid his hand up to his forehead and stared at the canopy over Anna’s bed, torn between frustration and a growing resignation. No matter how he looked at it, he’d done what he could. As stupid as it had been, he’d at least been clear about his feelings. Saruhiko _knew_. Which meant the ball was in his court, and there wasn’t much else Yata could do about it besides wait for some kind of response.

He really wasn’t good at waiting for shit to happen, honestly.

_Maybe he sent me something?_ Yata reached down into his pocket where his phone was still tucked away, pulling it up into view and turning on the screen. There were no new notifications. _Right. Guess not._

Briefly, he considered sending something himself. It didn’t have to be about getting a response. Just ‘hey, thanks for yesterday’ or ‘sorry for fainting on you’, or whatever. Something to trigger a conversation. He really, badly wanted to talk to Saruhiko right now.

_I wanna know what he’s thinking…_

In the end, though, his embarrassment over that stupid confession overrode the urge. Yata dropped his phone onto the table beside him with an agitated sigh, scowling as he pushed himself up and reached over to snatch up the glass of water.

Fuck this stupid romance business, seriously.

 

* * *

 

 

All things considered, Fushimi had slept surprisingly well – not that it was doing him much good at the moment.

The text from Kusanagi telling him that Misaki had been checked over and was doing fine had come shortly before he’d left work for the evening, and he’d debated stopping at Homra before going home. The prospect of being asked for clarification on his earlier statement had him dropping that idea, though. Until he’d settled things with Misaki, he didn’t really feel like letting anyone else know what went on between them.

_It’s not anyone else’s business anyway._

The confusion from the previous day had settled into a kind of uncertainty at the back of his mind, which he didn’t really care for, but it couldn’t exactly be helped. He still had no idea how he was going to respond to Misaki’s confession. The obvious answer was to take him aside and tell him the truth – _I like you too_ – but it felt strangely awkward. He knew Misaki’s feelings, but… still…

_This is stupid._ Fushimi shut his eyes briefly, taking a moment to let out an irritated breath. There was no reason to hesitate, and every reason to move forward. The anxiety gnawing away at him from the inside was pointless and baffling. This should have been easy.

Despite that reasoning, here he was, standing outside Homra’s front entrance and staring at the door like an idiot.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, curling his fingers in his pockets. _Useless…_

And yet, he still hadn’t done anything to fix the situation.

He was just working up to another attempt to convince himself when the door abruptly swung open in front of him, and Kusanagi stepped out.

For a brief, startled moment, they just stared at each other.

_Of course something like this would happen…_

“Oh, Fushimi.” Kusanagi smiled at him, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry about that – wasn’t expecting you. If you’re here to see Yata, your timing’s not bad. He woke up not that long ago.”

That tiny bit of knowledge seemed to cause the air around him to freeze. Misaki was there, in the building, awake. Fushimi’s skin prickled up, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach tightened painfully. He clicked his tongue, averting his gaze. “I just need a coffee.”

“That so?” The hint of amusement that crept into Kusanagi’s tone spoke volumes on its own, but he apparently didn’t feel the need to voice his opinion. “Well, don’t let me hold you up, then. Kamamoto’s had the shop open for a good half hour already, so there shouldn’t be any problem.”

There was no getting around it now. Fushimi moved forward to step through the door being held for him. “Thanks,” he mumbled without any real sentiment behind it.

“Don’t mention it.”

Kamamoto grinned at him from behind the counter as the door jingled shut, his disgusting good looks accentuated by what seemed like an unnatural cheer. “Yo, Fushimi! What can I get ya?”

_Cyanide would be nice._ Fushimi scowled back at him, thoroughly annoyed now. “Large double Americano, to go.”

“Comin’ right up!”

The transaction was mercifully short. Less than five minutes later, he was pushing through the door, irritation and frustration warring for dominance in his brain.

If he’d just been able to go inside earlier, rather than being paralyzed by indecision…

_Never mind._ It was useless to dwell on ‘might have been’s. Fushimi frowned as he walked, trying to force his mind back along a more logical path. He could use this additional time to figure out a better way to approach the problem of responding to Misaki’s confession. Or rather, not a ‘better way’ – he needed to figure out what he was going to say. Once he had that, the anxiety that had held him back earlier would probably lessen.

He could hope, anyway.

The challenge board had been updated by the time he reached it – the newly posted sign read, ‘Do something you’ve been holding back on’.

_Something I’ve been holding back on…_ That was vague – not as much as the cryptic ‘significant places’ from two days ago, but it was still fairly open for interpretation. How were they supposed to determine a winner? Whoever had been holding back the hardest? Whoever did the most impressive ‘something’?

It was annoying, as usual. Fushimi clicked his tongue. He didn’t really need this on top of everything, but at the moment he was behind in score, and there were only two challenges left after this. He couldn’t afford to lose another at this point.

_Well, it’s not likely that Misaki holds back much._ Actually, come to think of it, he might have the advantage this time.

That could be decided later, though. Fushimi stepped past the board and continued towards his workplace, firmly setting both the challenge and the confession to the back of his mind.

There would be time enough to figure both of those things out.

 

* * *

 

 

The noon rush had already passed by the time Yata came downstairs into the Homra break area. He’d gotten out of bed and hastily cleaned himself up before changing Anna’s sheets. There was no change of clothing for him, but he wasn’t going to have time to head home before his shift, so he’d live with the extra grunge. Following Kusanagi’s suggestion, he’d also gone ahead and washed the comforter, but he still felt the residual embarrassment from taking over Anna’s bed in the first place.

_Never coming to work sick again._

As promised, there was fruit in the fridge. Some of Yata’s appetite was starting to return, so he helped himself to a plate of that, downed a glass of juice for good measure, and then went up front to see where he could help out.

“Yata-san! Hey!” Shouhei was the first to greet him; he offered a bright grin and a wave from his post behind the counter. “Feeling better?”

The cheer was infectious. Yata found a sheepish smile forming on his own face in response. “Yeah, good as new! Thanks, Shouhei!”

“Yata-san!” Kamamoto called out to him, from where he was cleaning some of the empty tables. He was also grinning. “You look way better – that’s a relief, y’know?”

“Ah… right. Well, thanks!” Yata shrugged, feeling a little awkward about it. “And thanks for switching shifts with me, too.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it!”

Anna been sitting on one of the stools at the front; she set down her teacup as he spoke and came forward to duck under the counter. “Misaki.” Her smile was small, but full of warmth. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Y-yeah…” He couldn’t help but return that smile, feeling that edge of guilt creep in from before. “Anna, y’know, you shouldn’t – ” _give up your bed for me_ , was the rest. Before he could finish saying it, somehow Kusanagi’s voice flashed back through his head.

_“Anna would’ve been upset if you_ hadn’t _taken the bed last night.”_

Right. That. Feeling heat crawling up onto his face again, Yata dipped his head forward a little in silent apology. One hand reached up almost instinctively to rub at the back of his neck. “Never mind. Thanks. And sorry for worrying you.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She reached out to brush her fingers over his free hand. “Everyone is just happy you’re well again.”

“Got that right!” Shouhei agreed heartily.

“Listen to her, Yata-san!” Kamamoto chimed in from across the room.

“Yeah, yeah.” Some of the embarrassment was giving way to heartened warmth. Yata raised his head with a grin. “I got it! I’ll be more careful next time, okay?” Hoping to move the conversation past that, he quickly went on. “Got any deliveries I can take?”

Getting his body moving would help to clear his head – and he needed to check out the challenge board anyway. Plus, helping out would make him feel better about everything else.

And then… there was always the off chance he might run into Saruhiko…

Not that he was confident Saruhiko even wanted to see him. Yata resisted the urge to reach into his pocket for his phone. It had been silent all morning, so there was no point in checking. He wasn’t sure if it was because Saruhiko was giving his confession some serious consideration or if he was just avoiding having to turn Yata down. Either way, it was starting to give him a complex. He really wasn’t good at waiting patiently for shit.

How long were you supposed to wait before you asked about it, anyway? This was confusing.

“Bandou’s got that covered,“ Shouhei responded, waving a hand breezily. “It’s cool.”

Yata frowned. “I can do a second run if there’s any more orders.”

“Dunno if we have any.” Shouhei checked the tablet doubtfully. “It’s been pretty slow…”

“Yata-san, if you’re bored, I haven’t restocked anything yet,” Kamamoto suggested helpfully.

Yata shot him an exasperated look. “You’re s’posed to do that before cleaning, dumbass – remember?” He sighed, shifting impatiently. “Look, either way I gotta get today’s challenge, so if there’s orders, let’s do ‘em up fast.”

Shouhei cheerfully saluted him. “You got it!”

There ended up only being two new drink orders in the queue, so it was kinda stupid to do another run, but Yata felt better when he had wheels under his feet and the breeze in his face. The last bit of that sick haze seemed to blow off, and he felt hugely refreshed. He was even grinning by the time he approached the challenge board.

That faded a little when he saw what was actually on it. _Something I’ve been holding back on, huh?_ That was gonna be tricky. Since when did he ever hold back on things?

_Well, I kinda did…_ The remains of the smile shifted to a frown and Yata felt a small rush of warmth rising on his face. Since he’d found out about his feelings for Saruhiko, he’d been holding back, yeah. But that was all out now, so what was left?

Somehow, he couldn’t help but think of that last second of clarity before things had faded out yesterday: that moment when he’d leaned in, tilting his head up so that he could –

_Fuck._ Immediately, Yata ducked his head, pushing off the ground and leaving the challenge board behind him as his face started the shift from awkward lukewarm to mortified heat.

Okay, yeah, so there was that.

_Can’t do that anyway._ You didn’t just kiss someone if you were waiting for a response to a confession already, right? Well… Yata hunched his shoulders a little, pushing his board forward faster. Maybe you did if you were feverish and about to pass out, but that shouldn’t count! He wasn’t gonna be a pushy asshole about this.

Maybe if Saruhiko’s answer was positive… then…

One of those pleasant little sparks lit in Yata’s belly at that. _I could. I totally could if he likes me, right? I mean, I could ask him. Nothing wrong with asking. Just… “Can I kiss you?” – like that._

Shouldn’t be a big deal, if Saruhiko liked him back. It’d be expected, right? And even if he said ‘no’ to the kissing part, asking about it could still count for the challenge. They didn’t have to kiss right away. They could – they could work their way up to that, maybe.

Anything was cool if Saruhiko liked him back. Just the thought made him feel like he could fly.

_Maybe he’ll be around when I get there._

There was already a wide grin spreading across Yata’s face as he coaxed a little more speed from his skateboard, and his heart was thundering in his chest.

As long as he got an answer by the end of the day, he could work with it.

 

* * *

 

 

_I wonder if I could get away with answering him another day…_

Fushimi frowned at his phone, considering that as he idly rolled his fingers over the screen. He wasn’t really looking at anything in particular on the forum he’d browsed to, but if he just sat in the break room staring off into space, some of his co-workers would take it as an invitation to start a conversation. It was kind of irritating.

That aside, the problem of how to respond to Misaki’s confession was distracting him from thinking about how he was going to fulfill the latest challenge. He didn’t know which to give priority.

In terms of personal feelings, he wanted to figure out a response quickly and move on to whatever came next. The idea of being able to touch Misaki – to have Misaki reach out and touch him in return – was intoxicating. The image of Misaki’s desperate flushed face as he stammered out his confession was still branded into Fushimi’s brain. He wanted to know what sort of expression he’d get when he gave his response. The thought of Misaki smiling at him with those bright eyes filled with warmth made his heart rate seem to spike.

He couldn’t even bring himself to be disgusted at this point. The likelihood of it actually happening was too high, and he’d worked himself into a frenzy of anticipation without even properly noticing.

_Well, whatever._

On the other hand, his logical side reminded him that there were two and a half days left in this competition, and he was currently behind. It wasn’t like there was a time limit on responding to a confession; he could take as long as he needed. It made more sense to prioritize the challenge.

He just… didn’t want to, so the idea wasn’t sitting well. He couldn’t concentrate.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, frustrated with himself. _This is ridiculous._

The door leading into the break room opened before he could make another attempt to get his thoughts on track. “Ah, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata smiled beatifically, closing the door carefully behind him. “Here you are. May I have a moment?”

_Do you need to ask? You’re in charge here._ Still, Fushimi lowered his phone. “What is it, Captain?”

“No need for formalities. This is a private matter.” Munakata sat himself down at the other side of the table. With his posture and bearing, he might as well have been in a throne rather than one of the standard office chairs. He reached behind the lapel of his blazer and pulled out a small square of stiff paper. “By chance, I came across this photo. I thought perhaps you would find it interesting in a personal sense.”

Fushimi frowned suspiciously at the square. “If it’s from Monday’s challenge, I’m not interested.”

Honestly, the fact that he hadn’t _seen_ Munakata take any photos that day proved nothing. Considering the unhealthy interest his boss took in their individual activities, he was certain that more photographic evidence of that particular challenge existed than he was ever going to be comfortable with. The keen interest on Munakata’s face when inspecting his appearance had more or less spoken for itself; it was almost possible to see the cogs turning in his head as he considered how best to make use of the situation. Fushimi had resigned himself to it and accepted the consequence.

“How unexpected that you would immediately come to that conclusion,” Munakata commented, his smile not altering a notch. “In point of fact, this was taken more recently – though not by much, I understand.”

If anything, that was even _more_ suspicious, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to get answers without taking the bait. Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Fine. Show me.”

“Certainly, Fushimi-kun.” Placing the photo face-down on the table, Munakata elegantly slid it across using the tips of his fingers. “Please have a look for yourself.”

The exaggerated amount of secrecy surrounding this was ridiculous. Fushimi fixed his boss with a flat, unimpressed stare, reaching out to retrieve the photo and bring it up to have a look.

… And nearly choked on his own breath in the process.

The photo was from the Tunnel of Love at the theme park – himself and Misaki on that stupid pink boat, the lantern above their heads providing more than enough light to illuminate their faces as they leaned in towards each other.

There was no room for error regarding what _would_ have happened in the next instant, had the flash from the camera and the intrusion of reality not interfered.

Fushimi felt an unpleasant wave of heat rising up his neck to his face; to cover it, he turned a baleful stare on his boss. “Where did you get this, exactly?” came out through gritted teeth.

Munakata returned his glare with undisturbed calm, an infuriating glint of amusement in his eyes. “As I mentioned earlier, it was by purest chance. You are, of course, aware that such photos are made available for consumer purchase for a time following the ride?”

_For a ‘time’?_ “How long do you expect me to believe they keep these things?”

His boss chuckled in response, leaning back in his seat comfortably. “Quite an amazing coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“What ‘coincidence’?” Fushimi muttered that under his breath, more than a little annoyed. There were a number of channels through which he could imagine Munakata gaining knowledge of this incident and obtaining the photo, and it wasn’t worth wasting his time trying to figure out which he’d employed. Making an effort to swallow his irritation, he frowned back. “So what’s the reason for sharing this with me, Captain?”

“Solely for the sake of your personal interest, Fushimi-kun.” Munakata’s gaze was unperturbed, though it was clear he was taking a calculated interest in the reactions he was getting. “It was my thought that you would find a keepsake of such an intimate occasion to be worth having.”

“I see.” He didn’t believe for a second that that was the entire reason, but there was no point in arguing if his boss was determined to keep it from him. Fushimi glanced at the photo again. From an objective viewpoint, it was clear from the way that their heads tilted towards each other than the kiss would have been mutually initiated.

He skipped over his own face, focusing on Misaki’s for a second longer. His eyes were closed, and his upper body angled inward along with his head, all of his being seemingly thrown into the act. It was vulnerable to a degree that Fushimi hadn’t quite expected.

_He really does feel that strongly, huh?_

The memory of that moment was still sharp in his head. The dark, the warmth, the closeness, and how much of a thrill it had been to be _that close_ … His lips still tingled with the imagined sensation of how Misaki’s might feel pressed against them, and something in his chest clenched almost painfully.

He had wanted it, of course – still wanted it – and the photo made it clear that Misaki had wanted it just as much.

“In any case, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Munakata’s voice was unexpectedly gentle; when Fushimi glanced up, startled, he found himself regarded with a fond gaze. “If this photo is of any use to you in the future, then I shall consider the purchase price to be a resource well invested.”

Fushimi blinked at him, taken aback by the shift in the mood. As his boss rose gracefully from his seat, he fought back the instinctual confusion and tried to come up with some way to respond. “If you’re giving this to me, I can pay you back – ”

Munakata waved his hand in gracious decline. “Consider it a gift.” He smiled again, amusement mixing with that strange fondness. “If you should happen to lose it, you can be reassured by the fact that I have taken it upon myself to have backup copies on hand.”

_‘Backup’ copies._ Fushimi let out a sharp, resigned breath. Somehow, the warmth of the moment manifested in a tiny, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

_I still can’t predict anything with him, can I?_

Well, that was fine, too.

“Oh, and before I forget… Best of luck with today’s challenge, Fushimi-kun.” With those parting words, Munakata left the room.

Fushimi stared after him for a moment. Beyond that tiny reminder of the bond that formed the core of their team, something about the encounter tugged at him. He tapped a finger on the table, shifting his gaze to the photo and frowning as his mind picked apart the conversation. Something about the timing – not the timing of this particular situation, but something else…

The timing of the photo itself, perhaps?

_The date challenge was on Tuesday._ That meant that the photo had to have been obtained by Wednesday, at the latest – and yet, here he was receiving it on Friday. Which meant that Munakata had decided to wait two days before giving it to him.

Why?

Fushimi summarily rejected any possibility that he might have forgotten or simply not found time. There was always some meaning behind the Captain’s actions. It was possible that he’d been holding onto the photo in case the opportunity to use it to greater advantage presented itself, but if that was the case, what was the advantage in giving it to him now?

_Something to do with today’s challenge, maybe._ Those _had_ been his last words. Fushimi brought his mind back to the challenge itself.

‘Do something you’ve been holding back on.’

With the image directly in front of his eyes, even just thinking those words made the message suddenly clear. So clear, in fact, that Fushimi couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit annoyed that he hadn’t come up with it on his own.

_So that’s it, huh?_

It really was that simple, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Awashima approached him as he was coming in from the break room. “The client you’ve been working for these past few days is looking for a progress update,” she informed him. “If you could provide me with a summary, I’ll try to handle it, but they may want something more direct.”

_What a troublesome guy._ Fushimi clicked his tongue. “I’ll send you an email, then.” This particular client had been poking his nose in at every step of the job, and it was starting to get irritating. _How does he expect me to get work done if he keeps asking for updates?_

“Thank you.” Awashima nodded, and moved past him towards the door that led upstairs.

Fushimi took his seat, let out a sigh, and opened his email to begin composing. The sooner he’d finished with that tiresome task, the sooner he could get back to work and the more he could get done before he finished for the day and left to visit Misaki at Homra.

It wasn’t so busy that he couldn’t have taken a break in the afternoon for that, but after giving it some consideration, Fushimi had rejected the idea. It would be easier if he was off-shift, for a number of reasons.

First and foremost… the later it was when he did this, the less he’d have to worry about potential witnesses hanging around.

Beyond that, there were other benefits, though. He wouldn’t have to return to work afterward, so they’d have plenty of time to… do whatever they were going to do once mutual feelings were confirmed. Kiss, maybe? Talk? The possibilities were… interesting. He felt a little strange thinking about it, but not in a bad way. There was something like a storm of anticipation shifting within him. It was somewhat daunting.

Not enough to keep him from pursuing this, though.

He’d sent Misaki a text message simply asking ‘How late will you be at Homra?’ and had been startled when the response came almost instantly.

‘shift ends at 10pm’

Before he’d had a chance to type, another joined it: ‘you coming over?’

The speed was a bit puzzling, but convenient. ‘I work late, but I’ll be there before ten’, he’d sent back.

Once again, Misaki’s response had been immediate: ‘ok, cool!’, followed almost instantly by ‘see you then!’

The level of enthusiasm was unexpected but flattering. _Well… he did confess to me._ Most likely, he was anxiously waiting for some kind of reply.

Somehow, that thought brought a rush of warmth with it. Fushimi couldn’t help a small smile and let out a huff of breath, shutting his eyes briefly. If that was the case, at least he wouldn’t be drawing this out. The earlier logical notion of waiting until the competition ended now seemed even more unappealing.

_It’s definitely better to resolve this quickly, huh?_

With that taken care of and everything planned, he was able to throw himself back into the day’s work without too much difficulty. Akiyama ordered food for everyone staying late at around five, so he didn’t even have to take much of a break to eat. Thanks to that, he managed to reach a good stopping point rather than being forced to interrupt himself, and noted with satisfaction that it was just past nine.

_That should be good enough._ He’d have to wait an hour for Misaki to be off shift, but that was fine. Fushimi stood, picking up his phone and sliding it into his pocket. He could get something to drink and surf the internet or play a game while he waited.

He was about to head out when the door leading to the stairs that went up to Munakata’s office opened and Awashima stepped into the room. “Fushimi.” She looked a little startled to see him, but quickly recovered. “I was planning to call you. I received a response from your client.”

_At this hour?_ He didn’t normally work this late in the first place. Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Sorry,” she began, with a certain amount of sincere resignation, before her tone shifted back to a professional one. “I’m afraid I’ll be calling on you for emergency overtime tonight.”

_Tonight?_ Fushimi felt his skin prickle with shock. _Is she serious?_  It wasn’t like this would be the first time, but still… He stared at her, nonplussed. “What for?”

“They’ve insisted on a full progress update, in person,” she explained, letting out a short breath before striding purposefully across the room. “Your presence has been requested specifically as the person assigned to the case, so I’ll need to have you accompany me.”

Fushimi was momentarily struck speechless, unable to quite believe the extent of his bad luck. _Is this a joke?_ He clicked his tongue, more out of habit than irritation – he was still a little too shocked to manage that. “Does it have to be _now?_ ”

She paused, eyeing him sharply. “I’m sorry, but yes.” Her eyes softened a little. “You’ll be paid accordingly for the overtime, and I’ll give you a lift home afterwards – that’s the best I can offer, unfortunately.”

The weight of this shitty timing was starting to sink in. It was crushing. Fushimi shut his eyes, mentally recalibrating. “How long do you think it’ll be?” He could text Misaki, ask him to wait – ask him to meet somewhere else. This could be handled.

It was maddening, but he could manage it.

“I’m not entirely sure – I suppose it’ll depend on the whims of the client.” Awashima offered him a small, sympathetic smile, but her gaze was implacable. “If you’re ready, we’ll leave immediately.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, with feeling this time. “Fine.” He stepped forward to follow her out.

 

* * *

 

 

“My car is in the parkade down the block,” Awashima told him, as she locked the front door to the building behind them. Despite the fact that the Captain was obviously still working upstairs, the last person out of the lower part of the building had to set the alarm and lock up. Normally, it would’ve been whoever was working the front, but even in the short time they’d been open, Fushimi had done it a time or two – and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had too. “I need to make a quick stop before we go there, but it won’t be far out of our way.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t like it made a difference. Fushimi could feel cold resignation settling in his stomach as they started down the street. It was numbing, in a way. He’d built this up in his head, anticipation rising to a fever pitch, and now it was crashing down around him. He could still salvage some of it – he would text Misaki, arrange to meet him later – but there was no guarantee of success. Depending on how far away this meeting was and how late it ran, there might not even be a chance to meet today.

In that case, the challenge was a lost cause.

_Figures…_ It was his own fault for leaving it this late in the first place, and without even having a backup plan. He wasn’t normally so careless.

But then, he didn’t normally have confessions to respond to either. The entire situation had thrown him off.

_For something like this to happen now, of all times… Seriously…_

Awashima had walked next to him in silence while his mood spiraled even lower with each moment that he was left to his own thoughts. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she increased her pace, turning to head towards the building they’d just approached. “I won’t be long,” she said, reaching for the handle of the door. “You can come inside or wait out here.”

That… was a familiar door. Fushimi blinked, rendered momentarily speechless for the second time that night. His observational skills were excellent, but despite the fact that he’d recognized the building, it had still blindsided him that _this_ was her stop.

Homra. Of course.

“I’ll come in,” he found himself saying, feeling a bit light-headed with the sudden turn of events. He reached out to take the door, following her inside without having a moment to orient himself before he was looking up to see Misaki’s familiar face behind the counter.

His stomach gave a little flip, and he swallowed hard without thinking about it.

Misaki’s head had jerked up immediately as the door opened and the jingle went off, expression a mix of hopeful and eager. It fell almost comically when he caught sight of Awashima, and then his eyes shifted to meet Fushimi’s, and he instantly seemed to brighten again.

It would’ve been funny, if Fushimi had felt like laughing at that moment. The pace of events had left his head spinning, and he wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling right then. Locking gazes with Misaki seemed to bring a blend of anxiety, excitement, and confused longing.

_Now what?_

Misaki glanced quickly from Fushimi to Awashima and back again, and his brow furrowed. “Welcome to Homra,” he said belatedly, voice slow and a bit wary.

Awashima strode forward without waiting, leaving Fushimi to trail after her. “Is Kusanagi available? It’s fairly urgent.”

“Yeah, I’ll get him,” the barista standing next to Misaki offered, before anyone else could say anything. He offered a wink as he moved past. “Anything for a pretty lady. One moment.” He ducked into the back room.

An awkward silence fell in his wake.

“So, uh…” Misaki broke it, eyeing Fushimi with a certain confused agitation. His fingers seemed to have clenched against the counter, knuckles white. “Didn’t know you were coming here for _work_ …”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. The evening wasn’t going anything like he’d thought, and it was starting to become more than frustrating. “Neither did I,” he muttered, avoiding the sidelong glance Awashima shot him.

Misaki frowned, eyebrows coming together. “Say what?”

Kusanagi pushed through the back door before he could answer that, followed by the barista from before. “Evening, Seri-chan,” he greeted easily. “Oh, and Fushimi, too.” He raised his eyebrows. “Something I can do for you?”

“I’m looking for some information.” Awashima glanced at the empty tables to the side. “We can do the usual trade, of course. Is there enough privacy out here, or – ?”

“Of course, the usual’s fine. And I’d recommend the back if you’re looking for privacy.” Kusanagi smiled, lifting the counter with a flourish and gesturing towards the door. “After you.”

Fushimi hesitated as Awashima swept forward. It was possible there could be a chance here. “I’ll wait up front,” he said, before she could ask.

Awashima gave him a considering look, but didn’t comment. “That’s fine. I won’t be long.”

_I’ll be better off if you do take a long time._ He watched until the door closed behind them, and then turned back towards the counter. The other barista was back, which was… irritating. Fushimi’s frown deepened a little. If they were going to have an audience, maybe he wouldn’t…

The man in question glanced at him, blinked, and then his eyes widened a little, as if he’d just had some sort of brainstorm. “I think I’m gonna take my break now, Yata,” he announced suddenly. “Gonna… hm… go for a walk.”

“Eh?” Misaki shot him a startled look. “Now? But – ”

“Yeah, I could use the fresh air. Right now.” The guy reached out and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, grinning meaningfully. “I’ll take my time coming back, okay?” He lifted the counter, easing his way through and heading quickly for the door. “Good luck.”

“H-huh? Wait – Chitose – ”

The jingle sounded, once – and then again as the door swung shut.

For the second time in less than five minutes, an uncomfortable silence fell.

Fushimi turned his gaze back towards Misaki, in time to meet the baffled look that was directed his way. This time, he broke the silence himself. “For the record, I didn’t plan this.” He clicked his tongue again, out of habit. “Something came up at work.”

“Oh.” Misaki seemed to process that for a second, and then deflated a little. “Right. Guess that kinda stuff happens when you’re a secret spy agency, huh?” He offered a small, rueful grin, but there was clear disappointment in both his words and expression.

Fushimi shut his eyes. The storm of emotion behind his chest was raging. He was wholly out of sorts now, but there wasn’t going to be another chance if he missed this. _The timing’s wrong, but it should still work if I execute it properly._ He let out a sharp breath and then opened his eyes again. “I’m coming back there,” he announced flatly.

“Huh?” Misaki did a bit of a double take, eyes going wide as Fushimi moved purposefully to lift the counter and step in behind it. “O-oi… Saruhiko…?”

Any further words he might’ve sputtered out seemed to die off when they came face-to-face behind the counter. As he closed the distance between them, Fushimi could see the muscles in Misaki’s throat work when he swallowed, obviously attempting to contain his anxiety. _Well, I can relate._ There was an anxious knot growing in the pit of his own stomach. He felt almost like he was going to be sick, but the accompanying buzz of anticipation seemed to hold it at bay.

Misaki was close…

For a moment, Fushimi froze up, paralyzed by nerves as he looked at those multi-faceted amber eyes from his vantage point. The full knowledge of what he was about to attempt seemed to strike all at once, and he was momentarily unable to breathe.

_Am I really going to do this?_

“Saruhiko?” Misaki’s voice was strangely subdued, almost tentative; his gaze was uncertain. Still, it didn’t waver, holding Fushimi’s with a kind of stubborn force of will. There was a puzzled crease on his forehead, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his lips turned down in a kind of worried frown.

It was an ordinary expression, but something about it was grounding.

_“I wanna kiss your stupid face – ”_

_He said it himself, didn’t he? So it’s fine._

Snapping out of the moment of crippling doubt, Fushimi ducked his head, leaning in carefully and with painstaking slowness. He felt it as Misaki’s breath caught sharply; felt that ghost of a touch that was so clear in his memory from both failed attempts; felt the faintest hint of something solid brush against his lips, sending something like an electric shock all the way through him.

_So close…_

And then he made contact, the soft curve of Misaki’s lips pressing against his. It was brief and awkward. Just a short bump, like an accident, mingled breath stuttering between them, and Fushimi’s heart seemed to clench, the way it had when he was looking at that photo. He turned his head a fraction more, searching for the right angle, and pressed in again. Their mouths came together more firmly, and the world around him shuddered to a halt.

He was kissing Misaki.

_Kissing_ him.

That was Misaki’s mouth against his, soft and warm and slightly damp, their lips fitting together in tentative unity, side by side, unmoving. Just… _being there_.

Fushimi’s heart was racing; he could feel his stomach flutter. The reality was nothing like his imagination – it was so much less graceful, less easy… and still somehow so much _better_. He couldn’t properly describe it; couldn’t place the feelings coursing through him.

Misaki made a small noise, desperate and uncontained, and abruptly pressed back into the kiss with full force, his lips parting slightly against Fushimi’s and realigning. The adjusted contact set Fushimi’s soul ablaze. He felt like he’d burn up, gratification and pleasure and anxious want warring for domination within him.

They pulled back mutually after a moment or so, catching their breath. Fushimi’s glasses were a little fogged at the bottom from the mingled heat between them, but they were still clear enough that he could see Misaki, and that was all that mattered. In that moment, red-faced and slightly dazed but staring up at Fushimi with undisguised heat, he was so raw it was breathtaking.

_I should tell him now._

Fushimi cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward about it. There was a smile spreading on Misaki’s face, wide and uncontained and openly _happy_ , and it was distracting. Curling his unsteady fingers inward, he took in a breath and focused on getting the words out.

“Misaki – I – ”

Behind him, the door to the back room opened. “Fushimi. We’re going.”

The shock had them breaking apart guiltily. Fushimi turned quickly, starkly aware of the heat on his face and the shortness of his breath, and mentally cursed. _That timing…_

Would it have been too much to ask for just two more minutes of privacy?

Awashima looked taken aback by the sight of them; she blinked slowly, and then shook her head slightly, seeming to brush it off. “Sorry,” she offered, in a more conciliatory tone, with the faintest edge of an apologetic smile. “We need to go.”

Fushimi let out his breath sharply, deflating. _Of course we do._ He clicked his tongue. “Got it.”

Once she’d nodded and gone ahead, he risked a glance back and met Misaki’s eyes almost instantly. There was embarrassment lingering on him in every conceivable place, from his slightly hunched shoulders to the hand rubbing at the back of his neck to the quirked curve of his eyebrows. But when he met Fushimi’s gaze, he grinned sheepishly, eyes growing soft and warm.

It was an expression that made something quiver pleasantly in his stomach. Fushimi offered a small smile in return, a little overwhelmed. _What do I look like to him?_ he wondered, and felt a bit odd about it. Out loud, he said, “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Y-yeah.” Misaki’s grin widened, his face seeming to brighten even more at that. “Right. See ya.”

It was difficult to make himself turn away, but there wasn’t exactly a choice.

Awashima was tactful enough to wait until they were outside and on their way before saying anything. “That wasn’t exactly the soul of discretion,” she noted critically.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Nobody asked for your opinion,” he mumbled.

She sighed and shook her head, but there was the slightest hint of a smile on her lips.

If he hadn’t been distracted by the infatuated haze clouding his thoughts, that probably would’ve been annoying. As it was, he couldn’t have cared less who knew about this. Eventually everyone was going to find out anyway, so what was the point in hiding it?

The memory of how Misaki’s lips had felt against his was still sharp in his mind. Fushimi resisted the urge to reach up and brush his fingers over his mouth. It was ridiculous. Still, he couldn’t help but replay the scene in his head, marveling at all the little details. Misaki had been warm, his smell pleasant, and his lips soft. And then that expression…

Fushimi’s throat felt tight – his heartbeat was still frenzied. He closed his eyes, not bothering to repress the feeling.

It was good. Unbelievably so.

He waited until he was in the passenger seat of Awashima’s car to pull up the messaging on his phone, typing out, ‘I like you too, in case you hadn’t noticed’ and hesitating for just a split second before sending it.

Misaki’s response came back only a second or two later: ‘yeah figured but thanks for saying it’. Before there was time to react to that, it was joined by, ‘and congrats, you win today’.

Fushimi let out a small, amused huff, the edge of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘I think that goes without saying’, he typed back.

‘yeah yeah’, Misaki sent in response, and again without waiting, added, ‘not complaining’. This time the two messages were joined by a third as well: ‘i mean i liked it’.

He didn’t even have to think about how he was going to answer that; Fushimi was typing almost as soon as the words appeared on his screen, and sending it without a second thought.

‘Yeah, me too.’


	12. Chapter 12

The early part of Saturday morning was kind of a blissful haze in Yata’s mind. He vaguely remembered rolling out of bed – after what felt like the most refreshing sleep of his life – and going through his usual routine before leaving his apartment, but the details didn’t seem to stick.

Really, the only thing that was sticking in his head right then was the same thing that had been there all of last night.

_Saruhiko kissed me. Fucking_ kissed _me! On the mouth!_

It had felt really good. Awesome, actually. Yata couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off his face as he thought about it, and there was a pleasant squirmy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Saruhiko’s lips were so soft and warm. He’d smelled like a mix of hair product and something unique that had set off a flare in Yata’s belly. And there was something about the way heat had gathered in the small space between them that made it feel heavy and exciting.

Everything about kissing was amazing. He couldn’t wait to do it again.

Hell, there was even more, wasn’t there? They hadn’t touched each other outside of where their lips connected – actually, he’d been too unsure of himself to do anything much with his hands while it was happening. But they could! Thinking about it made Yata’s fingers tingle with a kind of _want_. Maybe… next time…

There was so much that could happen next time. His head was reeling with possibilities. Saruhiko _liked him back._ Anything could happen now.

He spent pretty much the whole bus ride re-reading their limited text conversation from last night, again and again as music flooded his ears through his headphones. There was that one very important line he kept scrolling up to see, heart thundering in his chest, and it set off the same series of sparks every time.

‘I like you too, in case you hadn’t noticed’

_‘I like you too’._ Fuck. It was the best.

In the end, he nearly missed his stop, stumbling off the bus at the last second with his skateboard under one arm, his phone in his other hand, and probably the stupidest grin on his face. The stares barely registered – his mood was too good to be ruined by something that simple.

Saruhiko fucking liked him – Saruhiko had fucking _kissed_ him. He could’ve conquered the whole goddamn world.

“Morning,” Dewa greeted him blandly, when he swung open Homra’s front door. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re here early.”

“Yo, Dewa!” Yata grinned back, striding forward and lifting the counter. “I got up early, so I figured – hey – why not?” He shrugged, heading for the back. “I’ll just grab my apron and be right out!”

The other eyebrow rose up to join the first. “Uh, sure. It’s not like we’re busy or anything, though…”

He brushed that off with a shrug, pulling open the door. “S’all good – I’m here anyway, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Even the lack of enthusiasm in that baffled response couldn’t dampen his spirits. Yata hummed a refrain from the last song he’d listened to, leaning his skateboard carefully against the wall before hooking a finger on his headphones and tugging them loose from around his neck. He left them on the hook in place of his work apron, draping that around his neck instead and reaching behind him to tie it at the back.

Homra was pretty quiet that early in the morning. Anna didn’t usually come down until around when the morning rush started, and Kusanagi would arrive sometime after that. Because it was Saturday, it might end up being later for one or both of them, but it didn’t matter. Nothing was putting a dent in his good mood right then.

_Wonder what time Saruhiko’s off work._ The thought snuck into his head as he finished tying the apron and he hesitated for a moment. Most of the time it seemed like Saruhiko worked pretty late, but it was Saturday, so maybe he’d finish early. Yata was off at four, but hell, he was always good with hanging out at Homra, so waiting for Saruhiko to finish was no problem.

… ‘Course, he hadn’t actually asked Saruhiko to do anything with him tonight…

Yata frowned a little, considering that. Was he taking too much for granted? Sure, they liked each other, but he still needed to ask, right? He was pretty sure that was how this worked. It’d be... a date. An actual date, not like that stupid fake challenge date.

A date with Saruhiko. He was already grinning again, heart pounding fast. It sounded pretty awesome.

That was another thing, though... They’d confessed and all, but they weren’t actually _going out_. Yet. He was pretty sure. Neither of them had properly asked or anything. That was another thing you had to do, wasn’t it? They weren’t actually boyfriends until one of them said ‘please go out with me’ and the other said ‘yes’. Right?

_Wait a sec… is ‘boyfriends’ the right word? Should it be ‘lovers’ or something?_ Honestly, that was kind of embarrassing…

Well, whatever – they’d figure it out. After all, Saruhiko liked him. They’d _kissed_. The rest was easy, right? Yata straightened, his spirits buoyed and his resolution set, and headed back toward the front of the shop. _All right!_

He was sure today was gonna be great!

 

* * *

 

 

Fushimi’s day had been perfectly average so far. Normally after working late at night it took him a while to get tired enough to sleep, but last night had been surprisingly simple. He’d woken to his alarm feeling startlingly refreshed and had gone about his morning routine in what felt like a mild daze. Leaving his apartment, the bus ride, the walk up the block… all of it was completely ordinary.

And yet, everything felt different. It was like that kiss had re-shaded his entire life.

_Well, it’s not a bad thing._ It felt good, thinking about it. Fushimi resisted the urge to remove his cell phone from his pocket and look at the messages again. They were already burned into his brain, so it was stupid that he felt the urge to confirm.

_‘i mean i liked it’_

Even just thinking about that one line filled him with warmth, and he didn’t bother to repress the tiny smile that came with it. Misaki had liked his kiss. Misaki liked _him_. Their feelings were mutual, and they’d acted on them.

It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about for himself before this.

He didn’t mind it, though. For all the inconsistencies and annoyances and awkwardness, it was worth it to picture Misaki’s smiling face and to hold the knowledge that the resulting tightness in his throat was a feeling they most likely shared.

The familiar entrance to the Homra Coffee House was coming up as he walked, and Fushimi slowed his pace, angling towards the door. He hesitated for a moment, looking through the glass, and caught sight of Misaki at the counter, talking to some unfamiliar guy.

A small but fierce rush of excitement gripped him instinctually, and he paused. Misaki was animated and lively, his smile wide and his eyes bright as he spoke. The sight made it momentarily difficult to breathe.

_Stupid,_ Fushimi admonished himself, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He was about to move away from his vantage point and reach for the door handle when the unfamiliar barista brushed past Misaki, mouth moving as he headed for the back. Misaki nodded and waved him on, turning to lean forward on the counter, with his elbows and forearms resting on its surface. He was still smiling, but as Fushimi watched, his face seemed to transform, eyes shutting and shoulders slowly rising and falling with a heavy breath. The smile took on an edge of something that Fushimi could only call _sweet_. It was a private expression – personal and deeply happy.

The grip around Fushimi’s chest gave an almost painful squeeze, and his mouth tugged up at the corners unconsciously. There was a kind of helpless mix of wonder and pleasure that came with it.

_Still, enough is enough._ He forced himself to move away from the glass, reaching for the door before he found some reason to linger again. _I want to meet him sometime today, right?_ The familiar jingle went off as he pulled it towards him.

Misaki’s head jerked up; when their eyes met, his face seemed to brighten even further. “Sa… Saruhiko!”

“Morning,” Fushimi greeted him, feeling slightly awkward about it and hoping that didn’t show. He stepped towards the counter, sliding his hands into his pockets reflexively, and offered a tiny smile in response.

There was a moment of silence between them that felt… expectant. Hesitant. Charged. All of those.

It really wasn’t bad, Fushimi concluded, feeling free to take in all the little details of Misaki’s face now that concealing his interest was no longer a concern. There was a noticeable flush rising where the curve of Misaki’s cheekbones was most prominent, but he still had that unexpectedly sweet smile as he returned Fushimi’s gaze, and the warmth in his eyes seemed to draw out and enrich the amber tone.

For a brief second, Fushimi considered the possibility of stepping behind the counter again. There had to still be time before the morning rush, right?

The back door opened before he could give that ill-advised notion more thought, causing both of them to jolt a little. The barista from before came back into the room, a water bottle in his hand. He shot Fushimi a curious glance.

Misaki blinked, as if waking from a trance, and then abruptly seemed to come to his senses, eyes widening. The color on his face intensified. “R-right, so! Coffee!” he blurted loudly, his gaze darting nervously from his co-worker back up to Fushimi’s face. “You want some, huh?”

Fushimi shrugged in response. The prickle of shock was fading, and the awkward feeling had returned. Having another person in the room wasn’t helping; he didn’t particularly want an audience while he worked these things out. Also, while Misaki’s flustered reaction was kind of endearing, he wasn’t sure how to react to it.

_At least I didn’t do something stupid._ Seriously, the fact that he’d even considered it in the first place was ridiculous. Fushimi made a mental note to check himself in the future – evidently, the possibility of getting carried away by this romance nonsense was high. “That is generally the reason for coming into a coffee shop,” he answered finally, drawling his words a little to cover the moment.

Oddly, the flippant comment seemed to relax Misaki; his expression flat-lined and then he raised an eyebrow, huffing an amused breath. “Yeah, yeah.” With a final glance and quick grin, he turned to the machines. “Large double Americano, to go?”

“Mm,” Fushimi agreed. It wasn’t really necessary – Misaki was already preparing his drink – but it felt more amicable than silence. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, aware of the presence of the second barista as he discreetly took in all the little motions of Misaki’s arms and the shifting of his shoulders and back as he worked. With his apron on, the narrow span of his waist and hips was more streamlined than with just his usual baggy clothing.

It looked… nice. Appealing.

That was probably normal, although Fushimi hadn’t bothered to think about it before. His fingers itched with the imagined sensation of brushing along the lines of Misaki’s body; it stirred up a kind of ache. He wasn’t sure what to do with that, either. At some point, assuming Misaki wanted the same, it would be acceptable to touch, but he didn’t have any sense of the timing. The idea of broaching the subject was intimidating.

It was kind of annoying, really… Why should he be intimidated?

_No use thinking about it so early anyway, right?_ Fushimi pulled out his card in an attempt to distract himself. He could look into the particulars later. What they had already done so far was more than enough either way.

It was certainly more than he’d ever expected for himself.

“All right – done!” Misaki turned with a grin, coffee cup held up triumphantly. “Ready to – ” He halted about halfway to the counter, expression freezing for a split second before he blinked and then spun right back around. “Wait! Just… one more thing!”

“Hah?” Fushimi watched him scramble for a moment at the back before snatching up what looked like a black felt marker and hunching forward over the counter, the to-go cup blocked by his body. “What are you doing, Misaki?”

“One sec!” The response came back with a note of urgency, as if Misaki expected him to walk off without warning. “… Right. Got it!” He turned again, holding out the cup with a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry for the wait! Here.”

Fushimi reached out to take it from him, a bit warily. “Thanks.”

“No problem!”

Their fingers brushed. Another of those little charges buzzed along Fushimi’s skin; he glanced up without thinking, and met Misaki’s eyes again. They softened immediately, and he felt the pleasant little squeeze within his body as they shared another tentative connection.

This was a feeling he wouldn’t mind getting used to, really.

The other barista cleared his throat, making them both jolt, and the moment ended. Fushimi pulled his hand back with the cup, offering up the card in its place. “Here.”

“R-right.” Misaki took it from him sheepishly. “I’ll ring it up, just wait.”

The transaction was short from that point; Fushimi slid his card back into his wallet and turned reluctantly, pausing just long enough to say, “See you,” before heading for the door.

“Yeah! See ya! For sure!”

He thought of the black marker again once he was safely outside, and brought the cup up, lowering the sleeve. As expected, Misaki had written a message underneath.

‘Come to my place after work?’

There was a lopsided sketch of a crow with wings spread beneath it.

_What an idiot._ Still, Fushimi felt the now-familiar tug of a smile pulling at his lips as warmth flooded through him. He shut his eyes for a second, letting out a soft amused huff, and then pulled out his phone.

Misaki’s message window was still open. It didn’t take long at all to type his response as he walked.

‘As long as you don’t mind waiting.’

There wasn’t much of a wait before ‘for sure!‘ appeared beneath it, followed by ‘txt when you’re done’.

Fushimi typed back a quick agreement, glancing up from his phone habitually to take stock of what was around him.

With everything else, he’d nearly forgotten about the challenge board, but there it was in front of him now. The sign had been changed, and as he drew closer, he could start to make out the new challenge.

‘Get to third base with someone’.

Fushimi stopped walking.

_… What._

 

* * *

 

 

Yata’s phone buzzed again just as he was sliding it back into his pocket; he hastily reversed the motion and pulled it back again, fumbling with it for a second before catching himself and hastily unlocking it.

Dewa gave an amused snort. “Your guy didn’t seem that chatty when he was here.”

“Sh-shut up!” Yata felt his cheeks heat, shooting his friend a quick scowl before turning his attention back to the messaging screen.

‘Did you already see the challenge?’

“Eh?” Yata blinked, then raised an eyebrow, frowning. _What’s that about?_ ‘nope what is it?’ he typed back, hoping the response would make things clearer.

There was a brief pause, and then a picture loaded on his screen. Saruhiko had apparently taken a shot of the board and sent it to him. He clicked on the preview to get a better view of the text.

For one brief, blissfully ignorant moment, his brain took the words on the screen and supplied, _Hey, cool, a baseball challenge._

Seconds later, reality struck home.

“Ha… HAH!?” Yata pulled his phone in closer to his face as if that would somehow make the image change into something else, staring incredulously. “What the _fuck?_ ” There was heat crawling up his neck and over his jaw, all across his face and onto his ears. _Third base… third base…_ He couldn’t even bring himself to think about the meaning, but the words kept repeating in his head. “Is… is this even for real?”

Dewa took a couple steps toward him, peering curiously over his shoulder. “What’s the problem?”

“Fucking… _this!_ ” Yata shoved the phone practically into his face. “What the _hell_ kind of challenge is this?”

For a moment, Dewa just blinked at the screen. Then his eyebrows rose. “Huh.”

“ _That’s_ all you’re gonna say? ‘Huh’?” Yata’s fingers clenched around the case of his phone. “This is – this is – ” He couldn’t think of strong enough words; his brain seemed to have blanked out in a mass of frustration and embarrassment. “Seriously, _what the hell?_ ”

He got back a shrug. “Guessing you guys aren’t at the ‘handy’ stage, then.”

Yata gaped at him. “The… the…” He could feel his face growing even hotter as he sputtered, and finally managed an outraged, “N-n-none of your goddamn business!”

Dewa raised an eyebrow at him. “Not like it’s a big deal. Don’t do it if you don’t like the idea.”

Yata glared back at him, disgruntled and embarrassed. “Y-you don’t need to tell me! There’s no way I’m doing that!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, there was a sneaky little voice at the back of his head that whispered, _Am I?_

Almost immediately after that traitorous thought struck him, he had another, even more alarming one: _What if Saruhiko thinks I want to?_

The implications were still sinking in when Dewa tilted his head with a mild questioning look. “You okay?”

“N-never mind!” Yata turned sharply away from him, hunching over his phone as he went through the messages again. Saruhiko hadn’t sent him anything else – just that question about whether he’d seen the challenge and then the picture.

_He… doesn’t seriously think that, right?_ Yata swallowed hard, anxiety stirring up in his belly. The invitation he’d left on the cup had been about hanging out, maybe playing a game or something and – okay – he’d kinda been hoping they might kiss some more, but not… not…

_Shit._

Saruhiko hadn’t said anything else – was he not gonna come over at all now, because he thought Yata was a pervert or something?

_No way…_ Feeling a bit panicked, Yata hastily typed out ‘you’re still coming over, right?’ and sent it before he could think it all the way through.

He was chewing on his bottom lip, weight shifting from one foot to the other with agitation, when the response came back: ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

The relief was staggering. Yata let out a long breath, shutting his eyes briefly as he released most of the frantic tension. _Right. Of course there’s no way he’d think that!_ He opened his eyes and typed back ‘ok cool’ before turning off the screen.

As he was sliding his phone back into his pocket, the thought occurred to him that maybe – just maybe – Saruhiko _did_ think that.

… And _liked_ it.

_Nah, it can’t be._ Yata shook his head, trying to clear that idea out of it. There was no way Saruhiko would _expect_ him to get to third base. Or – y’know – expect to get to third base with him, same difference. They’d only just kissed for the first time yesterday! They – they weren’t even going out yet! This kinda stuff didn’t happen that fast.

Did it?

There was anxiety churning up in his stomach again. Yata swallowed hard, squared up his shoulders, and turned around. “Hey,” he said, attempting to keep his voice calm but unable to quite suppress the edge of tightly contained panic. “N-no one actually expects – y’know – like that…” – he waved a hand in what he thought the general direction of the challenge board was – “… that kind of stuff on like. Like the first date. Or anything. Right?”

Dewa blinked at him. “Uh…” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and looking a bit uncomfortable about it. “Well, depends. I mean, Chitose does a lot of one-night-stands, so I guess you could say it’s the first _and_ last date…”

_Fuck._ He hadn’t thought of that. Yata made an effort to steady his nerves. “Y-yeah, but that’s different – I mean, in – in an actual _thing_ , like dating and all…”

He got back a doubtful look. “Even then, it depends, though. I mean, if you’re super into each other…” Another shrug. “Sometimes you just kinda get carried away. It happens.”

It felt like he was shrinking back into the center of his own head – as if the shop and Dewa and everything else became distant. “O-oh.” Yata swallowed again, trying to ground himself. “R-right. I guess…”

Damn…

_He probably wouldn’t expect it, though._ Even as frazzled as he was, that still rang true in Yata’s mind. Seriously, if he thought about it, he really couldn’t see Saruhiko with his standoffish attitude and his prickly behavior suddenly morphing into someone who expected a hand job on the first date. That certainty alone calmed some of his frayed nerves. _Right? There’s no way._

Hell, it wasn’t like Yata didn’t _want_ to do it – the thought was as exciting as it was nerve-wracking – but it was just… he wasn’t prepared? Something like that. He didn’t know how any of this crap worked – hadn’t even kissed open-mouthed yet – and what if he screwed it up? What if Saruhiko ended up thinking he was a creep or something?

_Fuck that._ It was definitely better to wait. Forget this stupid challenge. No way.

“Sure you’re okay?” Dewa’s voice cut into his thoughts.

Yata glanced up at him sharply, and forced a grin in response to the dubious look of concern. “Yeah, it’s cool!” There was nothing to worry about. It was all figured out. “I’m good.”

All he had to do was convince the rest of his brain, and everything would be fine.

 

* * *

 

 

One of Fushimi’s fingers was tapping against the break room table with mixed agitation and annoyance. He was getting some funny looks from Akiyama, the room’s only other occupant, but he deliberately ignored that, staring at his phone with a frown.

On the screen was the result of his search: a page on a website for defining modern slang.

‘Third base’, defined as ‘Hand Job, Fingering, or Oral Sex’.

_This must be a joke…_

Fushimi clicked his tongue. He’d been harboring some suspicions about the source of the challenges over the past few days, and for the most part he thought he had it figured out. The key was when you stopped assuming they came from a single person. Once you allowed for multiple people writing them, it became easier to make correlations. He couldn’t exactly prove anything, but… well… he was fairly sure he was correct.

And then there was _this_ outlier.

_Well, it’s not the only one._ There was one other that still had him baffled: the fateful ‘Spend an hour in a dangerous place after dark’. It didn’t seem like there were any similarities on the surface, but they both had a lazy feel to them, as if the person who’d written them had gone with the first thing to enter their head and just decided ‘well, that’s good enough’.

Kind of infuriating, really.

He clicked his tongue again, frown deepening as he turned his attention back to the words on the screen. According to the page, third base meant _getting_ one of those three things, which meant he’d need Misaki’s cooperation if he wanted to complete the challenge.

To be honest, he had no intention of completing it, or even making an attempt. It was ridiculous.

If Misaki wanted to, though… If Misaki asked him…

There it was: that was the thought that was really bothering him. He had no idea what Misaki might be thinking about this. Based on their interactions, from the stammered confession to the awkwardly returned kiss, he was fairly confident that Misaki didn’t have any more experience than he did – which was to say, none at all. But experience and willingness to do things weren’t the same thing.

Which meant that it was entirely possible that Misaki might want to do it. He had no way of knowing until it came up.

The uncertainty was bothering him more than anything. Fushimi clicked his tongue a third time, lowering his phone a little but not clearing the search result from his screen. He didn’t like situations where he couldn’t predict the outcome, but this was entirely different from most things. The invitation to Misaki’s home still stirred a tiny buzz of anticipation inside him. He wanted to go – wanted to kiss Misaki again. Wanted to touch him. Wanted to just… see him. Talk to him. Anything, if he was being honest. He wasn’t about to refuse or cancel, not when it meant passing all of that up.

As he narrowed his eyes at the screen, the words seemed to stand out sharply.

_Still, if it came down to this…_

Fushimi clicked his tongue yet again, frustrated. He couldn’t say he hated the idea. Not that he’d ever considered it before as something he’d want, but with Misaki, it became intriguing – even exciting. There was a little telltale stirring in his body at the thought, and he had to suppress a shiver. But even so, having it presented as something that would happen _now_ was jarring.

Even without experience, he could tell the pacing was wrong.

_How annoying._ He clicked his tongue again, deliberately pressing the power button on his phone. The screen went satisfyingly blank.

“Is something the matter, Fushimi-san?” When he glanced over, Akiyama had set down his book and was eyeing him with mild concern. “That’s the fifth time you’ve clicked your tongue like that in less than a minute. I thought something might be bothering you.”

“No.” Fushimi stood, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nothing important.”

“I see. Well, that’s good.” Akiyama gave him a small smile. “Sorry to have interrupted you, in that case.”

“It’s fine.” He hesitated for a second, and then added, somewhat awkwardly, “Thanks.”

Akiyama looked a little startled, but his smile widened with a certain amount of warmth. “Of course. Any time.”

Fushimi nodded, turned to leave, and then hesitated again. When it came to being discreet, Akiyama could generally be relied on – and he didn’t make an issue out of most things. _He’s probably seen the challenge anyway, so it’s not like he wouldn’t know._

Still, he kept his gaze facing forward and his tone flat when he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be aware of any obscure etiquette around getting overly physical on a first date, would you?”

There was a moment of startled silence. When Akiyama answered, his voice was slow and cautious. “Not… really.” After a brief pause, he added, “In general, I think it’s best to go with your own feelings on the matter. And your date’s, of course.”

“Hm.” Well, that was more or less what he’d expected. Fushimi stepped towards the door again, not stopping this time. “Thanks again.”

“Not a problem.”

In the end, it seemed like he was just going to have to enter this situation without knowing what to expect and see what happened.

 

* * *

 

 

“Right here.” Yata stopped in front of his apartment door, glancing back over his shoulder with a quick grin before fishing into his pocket for his keys. “Welcome!”

“You don’t even have the door open yet,” Saruhiko reminded him in that deliberately drawling tone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled back, not really serious about it. Honestly, the mood between them was good. Things had started off a bit awkward when they’d met up outside of Homra – not really a _bad_ awkward, but… different. They looked at each other a lot, and it felt like his stomach was doing flips every time Saruhiko’s eyes met his. But after a while they’d just sorta started talking normally about random stuff, and then they’d spent the bus ride playing Apocalypse Bunker, shoulders brushing and warmth building between them. It had been really nice.

And now here they were. At his apartment. Alone. Yata hastily fumbled with his keys, feeling a little of his earlier anxiety kick in. He was more excited than anything – even if nothing happened, he was going to spend a whole evening alone with Saruhiko – but there was that one nagging worry…

_Not gonna happen. Stop thinking about it._

When they got inside, they might kiss. That thought alone was making his skin prickle up. It had felt really good last time. And here, they didn’t have to stop. Maybe – maybe there’d even be tongues involved this time. Or touching.

With anticipation and nervous excitement pulsing through his veins, Yata turned the key, opening the door and stepping inside so Saruhiko could follow him into the narrow entryway. “All right! _Now_ you’d better accept a welcome, you picky bastard!”

Saruhiko let out a small huff, sounding amused. “If you say so.” He let the door shut behind him and turned around, bending to remove his boots.

Yata kicked his own shoes off, carefully leaning his skateboard against the wall and heading forward. He hadn’t thought too much about what his place looked like, but now that he looked at it, he couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. It was probably kinda… well, small. Not that he really needed much space. But he didn’t know how Saruhiko lived. He had a fancy job as a secret spy agent, so maybe he had a big place.

Yata’s apartment was a one-room with an attached unit bath and a kitchen nook. He had a tiny little table with two cushions to sit on, the futon he never bothered to put away, and his TV and game consoles. It was cramped but livable, and he kept it clean. What more could you ask for?

Well, a lot, but this was what he could afford.

_He probably has a lot more money than I do, though…_

As that thought popped into his head, Saruhiko finished with his boots and straightened, stepping out of the entryway. He glanced around with mild curiosity.

Yata shot him a sheepish grin, hoping he wouldn’t be too disappointed. “Sorry, it’s kinda small.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “S’not a bad location, though, considering…”

Saruhiko turned to meet his gaze. “Mine’s not any bigger.” He gave a small shrug. “It’s fine for one person, isn’t it?”

That little edge of nervous tension retreated. Yata’s grin widened, feeling less forced and more enthusiastic. “Right? That’s what I think, too!” He lowered his hand, turning so that his body angled more towards Saruhiko. “It’d be cool to see your place sometime, y’know.”

“If you want.” One corner of Saruhiko’s mouth tipped up. It was a cute gesture – like he wanted to be happy but wasn’t too sure if he should. “There’s not much there.”

“Hey, not like there’s much here either.” Yata waved a hand carelessly at the room. “I’m sorta curious.”

His eyes followed the slight motion as the other corner of Saruhiko’s mouth curved up to join the first. It gave him a little shiver – he still vividly remembered what it felt like to have that mouth pressed up against his. At the time, Saruhiko had been the one to kiss him.

_Does that mean I should do it this time?_

Was it really okay to jump right to kissing as soon as they came in?

“You’ll probably be disappointed,” Saruhiko murmured, and Yata blinked, forcing his gaze back up. There was a questioning look in those blue eyes, but also something intense – almost expectant. “I don’t keep many things.”

“O-oh.” Yata swallowed, wrestling with himself. Here they were, alone, and there was that charged atmosphere between them – he was pretty sure by now that it was the _‘I like you’s_ hanging around in the air like invisible threads strung between their bodies. He felt strongly that he wanted to act – to reach out and take Saruhiko’s hand, twine their fingers together, or step forward and lean up to capture those thin lips with his own. But then there was that anxious uncertainty hanging out at the back of his head, left over from the beatdown he’d taken when Homra had disbanded. A bruise to his self-confidence that chimed in here and there to warn him that he was probably jumping in too soon and aiming too far.

_Fuck. Okay. Let’s play it safe. Gotta do this right, huh?_

He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “So. Uh. You wanna play some games or something?” He managed a bit of a grin with that. “I got Empire of Death if you wanna try co-op mode…”

Saruhiko returned his gaze for a moment, looking strangely blank, and then shrugged again. “Fine with me.” He tilted his head just slightly. “I’ve only played the first chapter solo, though.”

“S’cool. We’ll figure it out.” Yata turned to head in towards the TV and then paused as a thought occurred to him. “You want a drink or snacks or something?”

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Yeah.” He scratched at the back of his head, shooting Saruhiko a rueful smile. “Sorry, there’s just the futon to sit on.” It wasn’t like he usually had many people over. “But anyway, I’ll set up the console, so go ahead and make yourself comfortable!”

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up sitting next to each other on the futon, Saruhiko with his long legs stretched in front of him and Yata loosely cross-legged as they played. They were close enough that his knee brushed against Saruhiko’s thigh. The combination of that and the warmth that gathered in the short space between their shoulders was pretty distracting, but Yata figured he wasn’t making too many mistakes.

Saruhiko was still doing better than him, but whatever. It was a hundred times more fun than playing by himself.

“Got it!” he cheered, swinging his fist up in triumph as the screen announced their successful completion of the first chapter. “Told ya there’d be no problem!” He turned a grin towards Saruhiko, allowing the controller in his other hand to tip to the side. “That only took us – what – ”

“Four hours,” Saruhiko supplied without hesitation, lowering his own controller and shifting his shoulders a bit as if to release tension. “And twenty minutes. Or so.” He turned his head to meet Yata’s gaze, offering a tiny, rueful smile.

Yata blinked at him. “Huh. Really? It’s been that long?” It sure as hell hadn’t seemed like it. “Damn.” They’d met up at six, made it back to his place by quarter to seven… “Guess it’s getting kinda late, huh?”

That little hint of a smile faded. “I guess.” Saruhiko turned his head again, letting out a long breath and then shutting his eyes. “I should probably go, then.” He set his controller off to the side, shifting in preparation to push himself up.

A rush of sudden panic flooded Yata’s system; he reached out before he could think twice, catching hold of Saruhiko’s arm at the elbow and ignoring the dull thud of his own controller hitting the floor. “Wait!” It came out sounding almost desperate, but he couldn’t quite manage to care; as Saruhiko turned his gaze back sharply, Yata felt his heart start to beat hard and fast against his chest, spurring him on. “I got an extra futon,” he blurted out urgently. “You should – I mean, you could stay over.”

For what seemed like a long, tense moment, those words hung in the air between them.

_Shit shit shit._ The thundering sound of Yata’s heartbeat was starting to overwhelm him. _I really just did that, didn’t I?_ He’d seriously just invited the person he liked – the person who’d admitted to liking him back; who’d _kissed_ him – to stay the night.

He wasn’t sure if he was more terrified or pumped. His head was kind of a mess right then.

Saruhiko blinked, seemingly taken aback, and then his expression settled. “I don’t have a change of clothing,” he said, voice slow and faintly cautious.

It wasn’t an immediate rejection. A large part of the nervous tension eased off, and Yata managed a small smile in return, slumping a bit with relief. “You could borrow some of mine,” he offered, eager to settle the issue. “We’re probably close enough to the same size, right?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was struck by the implication – Saruhiko, wearing his clothing – and Yata felt his face start to grow hot. _Fuck…_ “I-I mean,” he stuttered, trying to shrug off the embarrassment, “i-it’s not – not like it’s a big deal. Y’know? Right?”

Saruhiko returned his gaze evenly for a second, and then let out a little huff, his lips turning up again with open amusement. “Who are you trying to convince?” he murmured and lowered his eyelids a bit, looking back at Yata through his lashes. “All right. I’m fine with it.”

Something about that look had him swallowing hard, unable to tear his eyes away. Yata was suddenly, keenly aware of his hand still gripping Saruhiko’s arm. “O-oh. Yeah,” he muttered awkwardly. The combination of the intensity in those blue eyes and the feel of warmth under his fingers had a little spike of anxious excitement jarring through him, and he felt the urges from before rising up strongly.

Saruhiko was so close to him…

_Should I – ? Is this actually a good time to – ?_

His body seemed to be ahead of his thoughts, drawn in by the pull of Saruhiko’s gaze. Yata was barely able to process the fact that he wasn’t the only one leaning in – that space was decreasing slowly between them, and he could feel the brush of unsteady breath against his face. His heart was echoing loudly in his ears again, and his stomach was in knots, but it felt good – everything about this was a tantalizing mix of discomfort and pleasure that had his free hand clenching into a trembling fist and his fingers tensing against Saruhiko’s arm.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, he’d closed his eyes. Tilting his head forward blindly just a fraction more, he felt the brush of something against his lips, and then the gap closed.

It felt like tiny explosions going off in various places through his whole body – all branching out from that single point of contact: the sensation of another mouth against his, warm and soft and belonging to _Saruhiko_. Yata sucked in a breath through his nose, tilting his head to the side instinctively to improve the angle, and felt Saruhiko’s lips move against his, almost separating, pressing forward with clear intent and fitting in more firmly.

His heart felt like it was going to burst with how frantic its pace was. Yata’s fingers tightened reflexively against the arm beneath them, little sparks appearing around the edges of his eyes even as he kept them closed. When he tipped his head up further, clumsily searching for motion and rhythm, his nose bumped the frame of Saruhiko’s glasses.

They separated, breathing fast and hard. Saruhiko’s pale cheeks were flushed, but his eyes looked very dark with how wide their centers seemed to have gotten, and his lashes still hung low over them, like a veil. The sight of him made Yata’s breath hitch, the tension in his lower belly increasing with confused longing. Before he could act on it, Saruhiko reached up and slid his glasses off one-handed, folding and setting them to the side before tipping his head down again to bring their mouths together.

For a moment, they kissed like that, closed-mouthed, breaking apart every few seconds to adjust and come together again. It was greedy and clumsy and it felt good, but it was also like a fire had lit in Yata’s body.

Having this taste wasn’t enough – he wanted _more_.

_If I just… maybe…_

Spurred on by the way Saruhiko pressed back into the kiss and the tense excitement forming in his gut, Yata pulled back his hand from the arm he’d been grasping and awkwardly reached out to set it on Saruhiko’s knee instead, testing the water.

The response was immediate and promising; Saruhiko made a surprised little hum against his mouth and shifted his body, the hand that had been trapped by Yata’s grip now brushing hesitantly against the small of his back.

Even that light touch set off a little spark within him. Yata squeezed his fingers in reflexive response, feeling brave enough to slide his hand just a little higher up Saruhiko’s thigh. Fingers traced up the line of his spine in response, as if mapping it out.

The sensation was oddly intense – Yata gasped as a shiver seemed to follow the path of those fingers, his mouth opening against Saruhiko’s. He felt a hitch of breath close by, and then the first tentative touch of Saruhiko’s tongue against his bottom lip, slick and wet and – oh.

_Oh._

The fire seemed to flare up into an inferno within him. The damp heat of Saruhiko’s open mouth against his was intoxicating, and the glide of his tongue felt weirdly exhilarating, taking Yata’s breath away and making him feel like he was drowning for a dizzying moment. His fingers jerked against Saruhiko’s thigh as he felt the beginnings of a familiar ache stir between his legs.

It was so good… _too_ good… He didn’t want to stop.

Their mouths broke apart, readjusted, and came back together, open and clumsy and heated, mutually hungry as they pressed back into each other. Saruhiko’s fingers trembled against his back and Yata squeezed his thigh again, pleasant shivers rushing over his whole body.

Vaguely, at the back of his mind, he thought he understood now what Dewa meant when he talked about getting ‘carried away’.

Saruhiko shifted again, fingertips trailing forward along Yata’s back to curl around the far side of it, bringing their bodies into closer contact. Yata pressed back in response, a low sound escaping him. He took it as his cue to snake his free arm up around that narrow waist in return, a little thrill running through his body at the feel of toned muscle under his hand. Saruhiko’s free hand tentatively brushed against his hip, and he felt the surge of pleasant tension in his lower body again.

It was overwhelming, this feeling – not at all like when he… when he…

_Ah._

Realization struck – outside of the haze and the rush, the reality was that he was sitting here making out with someone for the first time ever – someone he really fucking _liked_ and wanted to impress – and that was definitely a hard-on pressing up against the fly of his shorts.

_Shit!_

Embarrassment flared up over the arousal that had clouded his thoughts. Yata pulled back, mumbling a quick, mortified, “Sorry,” before extracting both hands and hunching forward in an attempt to conceal the obvious bulge at his crotch.

“What?” Saruhiko sounded breathless and baffled – when he risked a glance up, those blue eyes were squinting at him with confusion. There was a dark flush across Saruhiko’s face, too, and his lips were noticeably reddened.

Yata’s own lips tingled with an echo of the desire in that expression; he licked them nervously, noting how _different_ they felt now. The urge to lean up and continue was so strong it almost overrode his humiliation at his current predicament.

Almost. “I-I need a minute, okay?” It came out defensive. Yata hunched his shoulders further, feeling his face burn, and turned his gaze forward. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

_Calm the fuck down… stop thinking about it…_ His body was way too keyed up to listen. _Fuck…_

Saruhiko let out a slow breath, withdrawing his hands somewhat awkwardly. “Are you really that bothered by it?” he mumbled. “Isn’t it normal?”

Yata jerked his eyes back up, shocked, and met Saruhiko’s even gaze. “Y-y-you… you saw…?”

He got a raised eyebrow in return. “I guessed.” That came with a soft tongue click, though with the flush and the squint, Saruhiko looked more disoriented than annoyed. “Anyway, like I said, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Huh? What the hell would you know? It’s not like you – ” Yata holded in the middle of his flustered rant, belatedly coming to a realization. He lowered his eyes slowly. “… Ah.”

There was a very prominent bulge between Saruhiko’s legs as well.

_Wait… so… he also…_

“Finally realized, huh?” There was a sardonic edge to Saruhiko’s voice, but it wasn’t too sharp. When Yata glanced back up, there was the barest hint of a wry smile on his face. “Took you long enough, Misaki,” he drawled, eyelids lowering into another of those unintentionally smoldering looks.

“Sh-shut up.” It came out weak; Yata was still kind of reeling from the realization. Saruhiko was… like that, too. Turned on. The thought sent a wave of heat through his body, stronger than the embarrassment from before. His fists trembled at his sides. “I… I was just… y’know… sorta…”

“Mm.” Saruhiko interrupted his stream of babbling by reaching up to touch his face, fingers brushing lightly along the curve of his cheekbone. They felt cool against his flushed skin; Yata shivered again, involuntarily, and tipped his head a little into the touch. There was a mix of amusement and a kind of heat in Saruhiko’s eyes. “So?” he murmured. “What’ll you do now, Misaki?”

That felt like a challenge. A rush of exhilarated fire blazed to life behind his chest, and Yata felt the grin building on his face in response before he’d even made up his mind. “Just you wait, _Saruhiko_ ,” he shot back, voice low, and reached out impulsively to wrap his arms around that thin waist, falling sideways onto the futon without letting go.

Saruhiko let out a surprised grunt as he landed on his shoulder, and Yata followed up on his advantage, leaning in for another firm, insistent kiss.

_Think I’m getting better at this!_

There was only a moment of startled stillness, and then Saruhiko was pressing back against him, mouth opening and tongue prodding at Yata’s lips again. He parted them obligingly, arms tightening as that wave of heady bliss ran through his body at the intimate contact. _So good…_

When his shoulder was pushed, he gave without thinking, rolling onto his back and pulling Saruhiko’s body over him with the grip around his waist. The kiss broke, elbows planted on either side of his face, and thin legs straddled one of his. Then Saruhiko’s mouth was seeking his again, fumbling and frantic, and they connected, breath mingling in quick, uneven pants as they found a rhythm.

The kiss was still sloppy, but the slick weight of Saruhiko’s tongue was a pleasant pressure in his mouth. Yata moaned a little without thinking, brain flooded by the signals of sensation rushing in from all over his body. It was like Saruhiko was everywhere, surrounding him, and he didn’t know what to do with all the stimulation. He felt shaky and overwhelmed, wound up to the point of short-circuiting.

It was almost too much.

Saruhiko’s hip brushed against the covered lump of his erection, making his legs jerk involuntarily with the unexpected spike of pleasure, and all of a sudden it really _was_ too much.

He pulled back from the kiss a bit gracelessly, turning his head to the side and loosening his hold on Saruhiko’s waist, unsure if he should let go entirely. “Sorry,” he muttered again, shutting his eyes and letting out a shaky breath. “I-I’m not… I mean, I don’t think…” He grimaced, feeing stupid about the whole thing. “… goddamnit.” Drawing in a long breath, he braced himself and blurted, “This is just… ugh! It’s too much, okay? Right now, I mean. I can’t.” He turned his head again, forcing himself to meet Saruhiko’s unreadable gaze, and set his mouth stubbornly. “Sorry.”

There was a brief, tense moment where Saruhiko just squinted at him in silence, and then he shut his eyes and sighed, leaning forward and abruptly resting his forehead against Yata’s shoulder. “Me too,” he mumbled. Then, almost as if to himself, he mused, “The pacing is off.”

Yata blinked, attempting to look down at the top of his head. “Eh? Pacing?”

“Never mind.” Saruhiko shifted his body to the side and Yata automatically loosened his hold, one arm slipping loose as they separated. Their faces were still close on the futon; he could see the faint edge of a wry smile directed back at him. “I’m saying that I agree with you.” There was a moment of hesitation, and then he added, “Well, I feel the same, anyway.”

Crazy how such a simple thing could make him feel so much better. Yata smiled back, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat from before stirring in his chest. It was pleasant in an entirely different way, but no less sweet. He rolled onto his side, bringing their bodies in line. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure who started first, but somehow a breathless chuckle escaped him, and Saruhiko’s shoulder shook as he let out one of those amused huffs. What was left of the tension seemed to dissolve in that moment.

“The hell? We’re both so lame.” Yata let the smile spread into a grin, fully satisfied when their gazes locked and it felt like that rueful understanding passed between them. “So much for that challenge, huh?”

“It was a stupid challenge anyway,” Saruhiko answered, dismissively. His expression was content. “It’s not worth worrying about.”

“Yeah.” Feeling more confident, Yata leaned forward to kiss him again, close-mouthed and simple. It was a bit awkward with the angle, but just the feeling of Saruhiko leaning into it, his mouth curving to fit Yata’s, set off that familiar flurry of excitement in his stomach. Even more when he pulled back and tipped his head forward to rest their foreheads together, the smile on his face reflected back from across that short distance.

_This is seriously the fucking best!_

All the same, there was still that one thing he was gonna need to deal with… Yata shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “I’m gonna… have to go use the toilet for a bit, though,” he muttered, unable to help turning his gaze aside as he felt a prickly heat crawling up his neck. “Just… y’know…”

There was a pregnant pause.

It was broken by Saruhiko’s tongue clicking. “In the interest of saving time,” he muttered back, sounding a bit put out, “why don’t I go use the toilet and you stay here? We can text each other when we’re done.”

Yata found his eyes drawn back up immediately, skin prickling in shock. Saruhiko returned his gaze flatly, but there was a downturn on his lips that was almost an exaggerated irritation – as if to cover his own embarrassment. For a moment, Yata was struck speechless, unable to process the implication.

_Can’t believe this is actually happening…_

He shut his eyes and rolled onto his back again, letting out a low groan. “Goddamnit… Yeah, all right.” Getting his hands under him, he pushed himself to a sitting position and turned his head to meet Saruhiko’s gaze again. This time, what passed between them was resignation.

_So lame._

“Let’s get this over with then, huh?”


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing Fushimi became aware of when he started to shift towards waking was the unusually stiff surface beneath him. It didn’t feel like the bed in his apartment. There was a pillow under his head, but the mattress wasn’t right. On top of that, the amount of light in the room that could be gauged from behind his closed eyelids was too much for him to be at home.

_Where, then?_

As he shook off sleep, the memories started to become clear again. Fushimi opened his eyes partway – and the first blurry image to swing into focus was Misaki on the futon next to his, facing him.

His skin prickled immediately. Fushimi squinted without thinking, which didn’t help much but at least cleared things up a little. Misaki was still sleeping soundly; even without his glasses, Fushimi could make out rough outlines. Closed eyes, open mouth, steadily expanding and contracting chest under the thin blanket.

_Misaki…_ A strange little surge of warmth rushed through him. Struck by the sudden desire to see that face more clearly, Fushimi rose up on his elbow and groped above the futon for his glasses, sliding them back in place once he had them again.

The world cleared around him. Misaki’s apartment was still and shaded, though there was light pouring in through the single window on the wall beside the entrance. There was the usual morning hush – this time broken by the soft, even rhythm of Misaki’s breathing.

Fushimi turned his gaze back, feeling that now-familiar little squeeze in his chest as he took in the still face across from him. He was used to seeing Misaki’s expression painted starkly with whatever he was feeling, but this view wasn’t bad either. It was vulnerable, in a way. Looking at it gave him that strange urge again: to somehow or another become a hero for just this one person.

_Well, not that I even know how to do something like that…_

Still, it felt like a goal he might one day be able to achieve.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, pushing that thought aside. _Never mind._ Come to think of it, he hadn’t had a chance to see Misaki sleeping when they’d been trapped together. It felt oddly intimate to be seeing it now, while lying on a borrowed futon in his underwear.

It might also have been the things they’d done last night… He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the memories to rise to the front of his mind. As expected, touching Misaki’s body – and being touched in return – had felt good. It had been easy to get caught up in the sensations, the heat of Misaki’s lips and tongue clouding his thoughts to a degree that should’ve been alarming. That, along with the remembered sight of Misaki’s face – skin flushed, lips swollen and eyes glazed with want – sent a warm shiver through Fushimi’s body, the residuals of that desire stirring to life.

The whole thing was… overwhelming. He wanted it again – wanted more – but it felt like too much, too fast just then.

_If we continue, there should be time for that kind of thing later anyway._

Would they continue? Fushimi frowned slightly, opening his eyes again to study Misaki’s face. He’d assumed it, but they didn’t have any kind of understanding, did they? Was there any guarantee that this would go beyond the one night in the first place?

Yet another piece of useless etiquette that he had no idea about.

_How annoying._ Fushimi clicked his tongue again. It couldn’t be helped – he’d have to figure it out. There was the possibility of waiting for Misaki to make the first move in that direction – and actually, considering how headstrong and impulsive Misaki was, that might not be a bad idea. He was the one who’d confessed first, after all.

But then there was the unusual hesitance from last night…

As if he sensed the thoughts centering on him, Misaki suddenly shifted, sucking in a longer breath, and his eyes opened in narrow slits. He blinked lazily several times and then his blurry gaze seemed to focus and his eyes abruptly went wide. “Sa… Saruhiko…” His voice was noticeably foggy; he cleared his throat, a tiny hint of color rising on his cheeks, and managed, “You’re here…”

Something about that reaction was as endearing as it was amusing. Fushimi allowed a smile to form, letting his earlier thoughts sink to the back of his mind and raising an eyebrow in response. “Where did you expect me to be, Misaki?”

He got a scowl for that. “You seriously do just wake up and start pissing people off right away, huh?”

“Hm.” The mood was oddly relaxing; Fushimi continued to smile lazily back, enjoying the way Misaki’s half-hearted glare softened when their eye contact stretched on. “Have you considered that maybe it’s just you I piss off?”

Misaki snorted. “Yeah right – as if I’d buy that. Your default is ‘piss everyone off’.” Despite the words, his lips spread in a warm smile, eyes going heavy-lidded as he stared up at Fushimi from his pillow. “So, how’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” That was actually the truth, which was surprising. He didn’t normally sleep well outside of his apartment. “I probably need a bath, though.”

“Right, we forgot last night, huh?” Misaki shifted, shrugging the covers off of his shoulders and exposing his bare arms. The sleeveless undershirt also displayed a good portion of his collarbone, and with his head tilted against the pillow, the line of his neck was bared openly. “My bad. You can go ahead, and I’ll make us breakfast.”

_‘Make us breakfast’, huh?_ That was enough to distract Fushimi from the places where his eyes caught. The stirring of desire in his chest was swallowed by an edge of confusion and something like longing. He didn’t ‘make’ breakfast – what was the point, when he had the money to purchase something pre-made? In fact, half the time it was too much bother and he just had an energy drink to get himself past the initial edge of hunger.

… It didn’t sound entirely unappealing, though, to eat something Misaki made for him.

Still, that was no reason to be careless about it. “What are you planning to make?”

“Huh? I dunno.” Misaki raised an eyebrow at him. “Why d’you sound so suspicious? I’m not gonna poison it – I’m a pretty good cook, y’know…”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” The pancake had been decent, if a little strange. Fushimi clicked his tongue. _Well, whatever._ “I don’t like fish or vegetables, so if you make something with either of those, I won’t eat them.”

Misaki blinked at him, seemingly taken aback by this simple statement, and then he huffed, an amused smile spreading on his lips. “Seriously? You’re like a kid or something.”

“Considering what we did last night, that comment says more about you than me,” Fushimi responded blandly, and watched with satisfaction as a flush spread across the face opposite him.

“I-I didn’t mean literally!” Misaki’s hand curled a little as if to form a fist, the sheets catching on his fingers. His expression was a mix of flustered and disgruntled – it was a tiny bit cute. “A-anyway, I got it, okay? No fish or vegetables. Anything else?”

“Hm.” Fushimi eyed him for a moment longer, taking in the flush and the frown and the furrowed brows. There was that edge of hesitation from last night in there, and he thought perhaps he could place it now. Something small and anxious lurked at the back of those bright, stubborn eyes; it put him in mind of that night in the cellar of the school, when Misaki had talked about his family.

_“I was used to feeling like I didn’t really fit anywhere.”_

There was the echo of a gleeful voice at the back of Fushimi’s head – the one that used to remind him that he needed to be careful with his precious things, because they seemed to break whenever he touched them. It was a voice he’d long since stopped listening to on a conscious level, but there were times when it blended with his own all too seamlessly.

_If I really do want to achieve that goal… then…_

Forcefully pushing down his own instinctive misgivings, Fushimi reached out and set his hand over the one Misaki had lightly fisted against the futon, curling his fingers with some hesitance to blanket it.

He could hear it when Misaki’s breath caught – in the same moment that those eyes lifted and met his, widening with surprise. It only lasted a heartbeat, and then Misaki’s lips lifted and spread in a wide smile, his gaze growing warm and impossibly fond.

The tightening in Fushimi’s chest didn’t seem so bothersome now. It was painful – _so_ painful – but also so good at the same time.

_Because it’s him, I guess._

Misaki turned his hand, threading his fingers through the gaps between Fushimi’s. His eyes lowered to take in the result. “I like you so much,” he mumbled, almost to himself, face going a bit redder as he looked up to meet Fushimi’s gaze stubbornly. His mouth was set; it was almost like he was adding ‘you wanna fight about it?’ to the end of his own statement.

That really was endearing. Fushimi let his own lips quirk upward, wonder and infatuation rising up through his whole body. “Me too,” he murmured back, and pushed himself a tiny bit further to add, “I like you.”

When Misaki pushed himself up and moved in to haltingly bring their lips together, Fushimi leaned forward to meet him without hesitation. The first touch still sent a rush of what felt like electricity through his veins; the soft press of Misaki’s mouth on his set his heart ablaze.

It felt somehow like the feelings within him had settled into something satisfactory.

 

* * *

 

 

Yata was in the process of dishing out breakfast when the bathroom door opened. He turned with plates in hand. “Yo. Food’s ready.”

“I can see that.” Saruhiko crossed the room to Yata’s tiny table. With just his boxer shorts and one of Yata’s T-shirts on, his limbs looked even longer and thinner – combined with his damp hair and the towel around his neck, it was kind of a good look, honestly. He peered at the plates warily. “What did you make?”

“Pancakes, actually.” Yata grinned, stepping forward to wave one of the plates at Saruhiko’s face. “They’re plain, so you can relax. I got butter, jam, and syrup, too” – he waved the other plate towards the table, where the items were already set out – “so you can pick whatever your picky tastes let you get away with.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, raising his eyes to meet Yata’s flatly. “Butter is enough.”

“Kinda figured.” Yata shook his head, still grinning, and bent to set the plates on the table before dropping down onto one of the cushions. “Well, dig in.”

Across from him, Saruhiko folded onto his own cushion, slouching a little in his seat. He glanced up and met Yata’s gaze, one corner of his mouth quirking. “No pineapple?”

“Nah.” Yata shrugged, not bothered. “One of these days you gotta try my special Yata-rice, though!”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Saruhiko responded wryly, the other corner of his mouth quirking. “Thanks for the food.”

“Yeah – let’s eat!”

They ate mostly in silence, but it felt comfortable. Yata was used to eating by himself when he was at home – it was one of the reasons he had most of his meals out, though breakfast was usually the exception. Having another person across the table gave him a satisfaction he hadn’t expected; he couldn’t help but smile widely between bites, sneaking glances at Saruhiko throughout.

His hair looked good styled, but it was nice like this, too, hanging damp around his face. There was a sorta natural feel to it – a ‘just getting ready in the morning’ thing. It made it that much more real, that they’d really just spent the night together and were sitting at the table having breakfast like an actual –

An actual…

_Oh, right._

Yata swallowed his last bite, feeling a little spark of nervous tension stir up in his belly. “Hey, Saruhiko,” he began, and felt his throat nearly close up when those blue eyes met his. He had to cough lightly to clear it, and forged on stubbornly. “There’s something… I kinda meant to ask you…”

Saruhiko tilted his head to the side just slightly. “Go ahead, then.”

“Right. So. Anyway…” Yata squirmed a little in his seat, finding it difficult to keep his gaze up but determined to do so the whole time. “I was thinking… y’know, we both… actually…” _Fuck, why is this so difficult?_ “… l-like each – each other… so… it’s just… we should… we should…”

_Date. We should date. Fucking be my boyfriend, asshole._

The words stuck in his throat; he could feel heat rising on his face, and sat there like an idiot, frozen.

“’We should’… what?” Saruhiko raised an eyebrow, a lazy sort of condescending expression on his face. “After last night, I figured you’d be done with the nervous virgin act, actually…”

“Shut up! Don’t act like you’re not a v-virgin, too!” Yata glowered back, frustration overriding the anxiety. “ _Ah_ , seriously, screw this! I’ll just fucking say it! What I’m getting at is, I wanted to ask you to – ”

“Go out with me.”

Saruhiko’s cool, even tone cut right across his rant; Yata halted, sucking in a sharp breath, and nearly choked. He blinked across the table. “Eh?”

“You heard me just fine.” Saruhiko wasn’t meeting his gaze any more – his frown was directed at his plate, utensil tapping restlessly against the edge of it. “That’s what you were getting at, right? Give me an answer quickly.”

Yata gaped at him, unsure if he was more astonished and pleased or strangely dissatisfied by having the words taken from him just as he’d set his resolve. He struggled with himself for a moment, watching Saruhiko’s restless movements and the mulish-looking frown set on his lips as the silence stretched on. He couldn’t seem to sort out his head properly after that shock.

_Seriously, what the hell?_

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, raising his eyes again to aim a flat stare across the table. “Oi. If you’re going to take this long to make up your mind – ”

That was enough to clear Yata’s brain. He scowled back, disgruntled. “Shut up, you fucking cheater.” Still feeling vaguely out of sorts about the whole thing, he crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Of course I’m gonna go out with you, asshole – but that was cheap as hell. I was s’posed to say it!”

There was a noticeable loosening of tension across Saruhiko’s frame. Even his face seemed to relax, eyes softening slightly from that defensive stance. “You’re too slow.”

“I was there, okay? I had it!” Yata glared across the table. “You stole my thunder at the last second – don’t pretend you didn’t do that shit on purpose!” He shut his eyes, letting out a sharp ‘ch’. “Seriously, this is so annoying! I was all fired up, and now it feels like – ” When he opened his eyes again, he found Saruhiko staring across the table at him with a funny little smile on his lips, eyes partly lidded and looking openly content. It jarred him out of his thoughts completely. Yata blinked, thrown off for the second time. “… What?” he muttered warily.

Saruhiko’s smile widened; he shut his eyes briefly and let out a short huff of breath. “Nothing.”

“Yeah right.” Yata snorted, but most of his earlier outrage seemed to have drained out of him. He shook his head, reluctantly allowing the resigned smile tugging at his mouth to spread. “It’s never ‘nothing’ with you.”

“Mm.” Saruhiko’s response was just as lazy and content as before. “If you say so.”

That unguarded look was doing a number on Yata’s heart; it was hard to hold onto his anger with it beating so hard against his chest. Seeing Saruhiko without his walls like this was almost surreal, but it triggered a kind of protective urge he didn’t really feel like fighting back.

If he could make it possible for Saruhiko to look like that… well, the annoyance was worth it.

Yata uncrossed his arms, leaning in and sliding his plate forward so he could brace his elbows on the table. “So, then… we’re dating.” Without pausing for a confirmation, he rushed on with, “That means I can call you my – my boyfriend. Right?”

Saruhiko blinked at him, looking a little taken aback; his smile took on a slightly mystified edge. “If you want.” He nudged one shoulder up in a sort of half shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“Right. Okay.” Yata couldn’t help the grin splitting his face at that. He felt almost weightless. “You can, y’know, call me yours too.” He lifted one arm from the table and rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling awkward about it. “If you feel like it, I guess.”

The corner of Saruhiko’s mouth quirked. “All right.” He tipped his head forward a little, looking up through his lashes. “I will, then. Probably.”

“Yeah! That’s – hey, wait… ‘probably’?” Yata furrowed his eyebrows, leaning forward to frown across the table. “What’s that s’posed to mean, huh?”

That little smile widened to something more like a smirk. “Nothing,” Saruhiko drawled out with a deliberate slowness. “You were the one who said ‘if you feel like it’, Misaki.”

Caught without a good reply, Yata glowered back helplessly for a stark moment. “… Don’t twist my words, goddamnit!”

Apparently that was something of a trigger, because Saruhiko tipped his head forward further, shoulders shaking as his mouth contorted. And despite everything, Yata felt himself softening again – he couldn’t help but snicker a bit, too.

It felt like a promising beginning, really.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they’d washed up, dressed, and left Yata’s apartment, it was nearly lunch time. Honestly, the timing of all of this was pretty damn good – not the ‘leaving his apartment’ timing, but the ‘spending the night’ timing. Sunday was Yata’s day off, and Saruhiko apparently wasn’t obligated to work either, unless he was on a case with a tight schedule and needed to finish something. The only reason they needed to leave at all was for the challenge.

Well, there was also the fact that Saruhiko would’ve had to get some stuff from his place if he was staying another night, but whatever.

Actually, Saruhiko didn’t look too bad in one of Yata’s T-shirts. They were apparently pretty close in size, height aside. It was kinda nice to see him in it too – Yata kept stealing glances and feeling that little twist of squirmy pleasure in his belly at the sight while they stood together in the aisle on the bus. And then there was the fact that he knew that under those work pants, there was a pair of his own clean underwear…

_Shit. Don’t fucking think about that now._

Saruhiko glanced over and met his gaze, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry, and Yata felt a rush of guilty heat surge up to his face. He shook his head furiously to try and wipe those thoughts out, muttering, “Sorry,” under his breath.

There was a light ‘hm’ from next to him, and he felt the tentative touch of Saruhiko’s fingers brushing against his own – not enough for it to be noticeable to anyone who happened to be looking, but deliberate enough for Yata to be sure it wasn’t a mistake. He looked up again quickly, and his heart gave a little anxious flutter when their eyes met.

“You wanted to come to my place, right?” Saruhiko murmured, and shifted with just a slight edge of awkwardness. “You can tonight, when we’re done.”

“Huh? Really?” Yata blinked and then grinned back, feeling a little thrill at the offer. “Yeah, of course! That’d be awesome!” Realization struck just a split second later and he added, “So, tonight like… _all_ night, or…?”

Saruhiko shrugged slightly. “If you want. I don’t mind.”

_Which means ‘yes’, huh?_ Yata’s grin widened. “Yeah, cool. Sounds good, then!” Once again, he had a belated thought pop into his head. “Too bad we didn’t figure it out earlier – I’d have grabbed a change of clothes.”

“Too bad,” Saruhiko echoed, in that drawl; his eyes went lidded, corners of his mouth edging up. “You’ll have to borrow some of mine,” he added, lazily, “won’t you, Misaki?”

The combination of the tone and the immediate assumption kicked the truth of what had just happened to the front of Yata’s brain. He stared back for a moment, mildly shocked, and then sagged, rueful pleasure causing his grin to shift a bit. “You fucking prick. Coulda just asked.”

Saruhiko hummed again in response, unconcerned. “It’s more interesting this way.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Yata snorted, still grinning. His heart felt light.

Saruhiko’s shirt and boxers from yesterday were still at his place – and it wasn’t like Yata was gonna bring his dirty clothing from today to work tomorrow. But the thought of them having stuff mixed together at each other’s apartments was appealing in some weird way. It was like the feeling he’d got at the breakfast table – a kind of comfortable satisfaction.

_I don’t really get it, but hell, I’ll roll with it._

It wasn’t too busy at the familiar bus stop by Homra; after they’d started up the street, foot traffic thinned out considerably and they had most of the sidewalk to themselves.

Yata hefted his skateboard, glancing sideways to catch Saruhiko’s gaze. “Hey,” he started, “what kinda challenge d’you think it’ll be today?”

“Who knows.” Saruhiko’s response was typically breezy. “Regardless, this will be the tie-breaker – whoever wins it will be the winner of the whole competition.” The faint edge of a smirk started on his face. “Are you ready for that, Misaki?”

“Heh!” Yata returned the smirk. “Ready to win? Hell yeah! I’ve been waiting for this since the start – bring it on!”

Saruhiko hummed low. “We’ll see about that, huh?”

“Yeah, just wait!” Feeling enthusiastic about it, Yata drew himself up. “As long as it’s not a shitty challenge like yesterday’s, we can settle this no problem!”

“It’ll depend on who wrote today’s, I guess,” Saruhiko mused, almost to himself.

“Huh?” Yata stared at him, confused. “’Who’?”

“I never mentioned it to you, did I?” Without waiting for an answer – not that Yata could’ve answered it anyway – Saruhiko went on. “I’m pretty confident that there’s more than one person writing challenges.”

“Really?” Yata frowned, feeling his brow furrow. “Why d’you think that?”

“It’s the style of the challenge.” Saruhiko reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose, voice dry as he explained. “The person behind it seems to change not only their mood but the way they give instruction. For example, ‘Make a stack of pancakes’ is practical and pointed. By contrast, something like ‘Visit three places that were significant to you and take a picture’ feels too whimsical and flighty.” He frowned a bit. “It’s even more apparent if you compare Thursday’s and Friday’s – they’re similar enough that they could’ve been a single challenge, but ‘Confess a hidden feeling’ is specific and simple to the point of childish while ‘Do something you’ve been holding back on’ gives the reader something to think about while still guiding their thoughts in that general direction. You see what I mean?”

“Huh.” Yata scratched at the back of his head, absorbing that. “Yeah… yeah, I can see it.” He grinned back, impressed. “Seriously, that’s kind of amazing, though! I never even thought of any of that stuff!”

Saruhiko fixed his gaze in front of them, still frowning. “It’s not exactly a huge deal. I’m paid to notice this kind of thing.”

_That habit again, huh?_ Yata turned his gaze as well, letting out a soft, amused huff of breath. “Still, I think it’s pretty awesome!” He shifted his skateboard again, musing out loud, “I wonder if they’re people we know…”

“I think so.”

“Huh? Really?” Yata turned again to stare, surprised at the frank answer. “Who d’you think?”

“Who knows.” Saruhiko shrugged, his voice taking on that infuriatingly smug tone. He smiled lazily. “I’ll bet you could figure it out if you thought about it.”

Yata shot him a flat stare. “Seriously, you’re the worst, y’know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Saruhiko murmured. That content look was back on his face – the one that made it hard to be mad at him. “Anyway, we’re nearly there.”

“Right.” Yata straightened again, facing forward. The challenge board was just up ahead – it had the familiar poster board set up, and as they drew closer, he could make out the text on it.

“ _Hah?_ ” Yata couldn’t help but blurt out, shocked, just as Saruhiko’s irritated voice said, “What.”

The text on the challenge board read, ‘Tell someone important how much you love them’.

After a moment of stunned silence, they glanced at each other.

_Fuck…_ Yata felt his face growing hotter by the second. Not ‘like’ – actual _love_. A dramatic movie confession kind of thing. And the ‘how much’ part… What, he was supposed to stand here and pour his heart out to someone he’d been official dating for just a few hours? He felt his mouth work, but nothing was coming out – not even a sputter.

Seriously, what the hell was he supposed to do with this?

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, looking away. His lips curled down into a frown; there was an irritated edge to his expression. “What’s with this theme?” he muttered. “It’s like they’re all having a good laugh about it.” He exhaled sharply. “How annoying…”

Well, they were in agreement there. Yata recovered himself a little, letting out a soft ‘ch’ and then summoning his will power. _Right. I can do this. No problem._ “Oi. Saruhiko.” It came out sounding kinda weird; he cleared his throat, ignoring the flush lingering on his face and setting his shoulders stubbornly as their eyes met. “You – you know already, but… the truth is, I really…”

“I love you.”

It was a soft, reluctant mumble – and it came with an even deeper frown – but Yata felt his skin prickle up in reaction. The feeling didn’t last long against his outrage, though. “AH! AGAIN! _What the hell_ , Saruhiko?” He clenched his free hand into a fist without thinking, glaring back with all of his power. “Quit stealing my goddamn lines, you bastard!”

Saruhiko crossed his arms, leveling an irritated stare back at him. “Quit taking so long with them, then.”

“ _I was fucking fine!_ ” At that point, Yata really was sputtering, and he wasn’t sure if it was more embarrassment or anger. Mostly, it felt like a confusing blend of the two. “Damnit! Fine! I love you so much, it makes my heart feel like it’s gonna burst!”

Those blue eyes narrowed at him. “Well, my love is so strong, it makes my entire body feel weak,” he retorted, voice flat.

“The whole fucking ocean couldn’t hold all my love!”

“The sky doesn’t have enough space for how much love I have.” Saruhiko lifted a hand to push his glasses up further on his nose, and his lips curled into a smirk. “That includes the troposphere, stratosphere, and mesosphere, by the way.”

Yata wasn’t about to admit that he didn’t have the first clue what those things were. “Yeah, well… well, my love could fill up all of outer space!” he declared boldly, and smirked right back, eyebrows coming down. “How about _that?_ ”

Saruhiko’s eyebrow twitched slightly, his smirk taking on a hard edge. “My love is infinite, in fact.”

“S-so’s mine! Bigger than infinite!”

“There’s no such thing as ‘bigger than infinite’, stupid.”

“There is now, asshole – it’s my fucking love! Accept it already!”

They glared at each other for a long moment, breathing hard.

Finally, Saruhiko clicked his tongue, uncrossing his arms and leaning back. “This is pointless,” he muttered. “There’s no possible way for either of us to win a challenge like this. Who’s going to decide one way or another which ridiculous confession is the winner?”

Yata scowled at him. “Look, my first confession was sincere, okay? I mean” – honestly, a confession of love at this point was kinda over the top – they’d just started dating, after all – but the sentiment was there – “y’know, mostly. I mean, probably. Eventually. Y-you know what I mean!”

“So was mine,” Saruhiko responded flatly, fixing him with another of those even stares. “Mostly. Or, as you said, ‘eventually’. So where does that leave us, exactly?”

There was another brief second of sharp silence – and then realization struck. Yata had just an instant to catch those blue eyes widening before he was turning his gaze aside, unable to stand it. His free hand came up on instinct to rub at the back of his neck as uncomfortable warmth flooded up over his throat and jawline.

_Goddamnit…_

Still, there was only so long he could let the awkward pause stretch out before it became too much. Yata sucked in a determined breath and turned his eyes back up, frowning. “So? Now what?”

Saruhiko turned to face him as well, a mix of irritation and wariness in his eyes. “Why are you asking me that? How should I know?”

“Well, your boss is the one who made up those shitty rules!” Yata shot him a disgruntled look, and then let out a sharp ‘ch’, trying to drain out the last of his embarrassment. “The hell’s this supposed to mean, anyway? We tied? Like, the whole thing?”

“Unless you want to flip a coin over it, it looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t have to be an asshole!” Yata snapped back, and then heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping as he released the last of his tension. “Man, what the hell? This is such a lame result…”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Saruhiko muttered, almost to himself, and clicked his tongue. Then he sighed as well, straightening. “Well, it’s fine.”

Yata glanced at him curiously. “Huh? How so?”

“Technically, I didn’t lose.” Saruhiko turned to face him, the edge of something between a smirk and a smile edging upward on his face. He lowered his eyelids halfway, gaze intent despite the lazy setup. “That means I can claim the prize, right?”

That look was causing parts of Yata’s brain to malfunction; he gaped back. “Huh? But – ”

Saruhiko didn’t even let him start to sputter a response, adding in a low voice, “So that means you’re mine now, right?”

Once again there was heat rushing to Yata’s face, fast and fierce. His stomach fluttered with a kind of pleased excitement. “Wha – ? But – you – I-I-I mean, I didn’t lose either!” he managed to blurt out, and thrust an accusing finger in the direction of Saruhiko’s chest. “Th-that means you have to be mine, too!”

“I can live with that,” Saruhiko responded, veiling his eyes with his lashes before side-stepping the finger and reaching forward to tip Yata’s chin up into a soft but shockingly daring kiss.

Somehow, as his brain short-circuited in the middle of a public sidewalk and he couldn’t even summon enough common sense to pull back and spare them both the embarrassment, at the back of Yata’s head was the answering thought.

_I can probably live with that too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it: the end of the main portion of the fic... I'm so sad to be done, honestly - it's been an amazing few weeks of posting, and I'm so grateful to everyone who read along and enjoyed the story! Thank you to everyone for sticking with me all the way through. Please hold onto your guesses about the source of the challenges for the epilogue this Friday!


	14. Epilogue

It was past noon on Sunday – the final day of the challenge contest that had captured the attention of two separate workplaces – when a familiar pair stepped into Homra, setting off the familiar door chime. Kusanagi looked up with a smile already on his lips, knowing exactly whom he’d find there. “Welcome,” he offered anyway. “The others are already in the back, if you’d like to grace us with your company.”

“Indeed we shall,” Munakata responded, his smile and eyes reflecting his good humor. “Please forgive us if we’ve kept you waiting.”

“Not at all.” Kusanagi shrugged, moving to lift the counter, and offered a smile to the woman at his side. “I hope you made good use of that information I gave you last time, Seri-chan.”

“Of course.” She raised an eyebrow at him as she passed, as if to express exasperation that he even felt he had to ask, and then smiled faintly. “All things considered, it might have been better that I had to come here to collect it.”

“You might be right about that.” He’d heard the story already, of course. Kusanagi followed them through the door to the back, waving to Fujishima to keep an eye on the front.

Anna and Totsuka were already waiting in the break room, the wheelchair pushed up snugly against the armchair that Homra’s young owner was perched on. They looked up as the group from the front approached, smiles forming.

“Welcome, Reisi, Seri.”

“Hey there, spy team bosses!”

Seri let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh at the cheerful greeting. “Good afternoon.”

Munakata pushed up his glasses. “This appears to be all of us – bar one.” It didn’t need to be mentioned where that ‘one’ was – or, at least, where he should be. Not that Kusanagi thought that Mikoto was out wandering the streets just yet. Getting proper sleep had never been an issue with him, even prior to his extended hospital stay. “Shall we proceed?”

“I think now’s as good a time as any.” Kusanagi glanced around in case of objections, but it didn’t seem like anyone in the room was going to offer one. “Well, then, let’s get to it – we’ve got a challenge contest about to finish, and a pair of troublemakers to judge.” He offered a rueful smile. “Though I expect they’ve sorted things out for themselves about now.”

“We can hope,” Totsuka chimed in, and smiled. “Shouhei was kind enough to agree to be our lookout, so we’ll know soon enough.”

“Misaki and Saruhiko will be fine,” Anna added, quiet and sure.

“At this point, I would have to agree.” Munakata nodded politely at her before directing a sharp-eyed gaze at the others. “I must admit, I had not predicted the direction our little… distraction… would take. It is fortunate that such splendid improvisations could be made.”

_Not predicted, huh?_ Kusanagi felt his fingers twitch, and resisted the urge to go for a cigarette. It was years ago that Yata had confided in him about his preferences, and he still hadn’t expected the exact outcome of the very clear chemistry between him and Fushimi.

At least, not until after that ice-cream challenge.

He didn’t believe for a second that Munakata hadn’t at least had an inkling of it prior to that, though. _His sense is too sharp for him to have missed it._ Would’ve saved them a lot of last-minute hassle coming up with appropriate challenges if he’d just shared that little piece of information.

_Well, it’s not worth complaining about at this point._ “I’m not sure if splendid’s the word I’d use for some of those,” Kusanagi commented instead, shaking his head. “Either way, I think we can all agree we’re probably looking at a tie outcome – am I right?”

Totsuka chuckled. “I don’t think either of them were feeling up to taking on King’s last challenge, hm?”

Munakata made a small, disapproving ‘hmph’. “As with his first challenge, it was quite disagreeable.”

Kusanagi let out an amused huff. “Says the man who encouraged those boys to wear women’s clothing at their workplaces.”

He received an untroubled smile in response. “Merely indulging a curiosity of mine, Kusanagi-kun.”

“Is that what it is?” The lack of guilt in that smile was a bit irritating, to be honest. “How’d you find the actual experience, Seri-chan?”

“I didn’t have any particular trouble,” she responded with unruffled cool. “It’s only fair for me to assist in that sense, seeing as how I had no part in writing any of these.”

“You could have written one or two if you’d wanted.”

Seri smiled at him, small and sharp. “I don’t think I could top ‘plan an amazing date’, do you?”

Kusanagi raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ouch.”

“But,” Anna put in quietly – when he glanced over, she was frowning as if in deep thought, “mine was criticized.”

“Ah.” There wasn’t much he could say to that. _Put your foot in it without knowing, huh, Yata-chan?_ Not that he could exactly be faulted, considering which challenge that one happened to be…

“Please rest assured, Kushina-san,” Munakata said smoothly, “we have all received our share of criticism.” His smile took on an amused edge. “Our Fushimi-kun has quite the cutting tongue, as I’m sure many of you have noticed.”

“He’s an interesting one, that’s for sure,” Totsuka remarked with good-natured cheer – and then blinked as the phone in his lap buzzed. “Ah – I wonder if that’s Shouhei now…”

“Are you going to continue the challenges, Tatara?” Anna asked him, leaning forward a little to watch as he swiped open his phone.

“That’s a good question.” Kusanagi aimed a rueful grin at his younger friend. “It was yours before any of this started, after all.”

“Please accept our apologies for appropriating the board,” Munakata put in without a trace of actual remorse. “However, it seems to have served its intended purpose well.”

“Hmm…” Totsuka smiled absently, keying into his phone. “I haven’t made up my mind just yet. Oh, but!” He lifted his head, eyes brightening. “I was thinking of daily quotes instead – what do you think, Anna?”

She leaned forward even further, reaching out to tap at his phone meaningfully. “Tatara.”

“Ah – right. Sorry for getting distracted, everyone!” He straightened, turning the phone outward so that the image on its screen was visible. “Here we are – courtesy of our own Akagi Shouhei!”

They all had to step in a little to see it, but once he’d caught a good glimpse, Kusanagi leaned back, shaking his head as the corners of his mouth tugged up again. _In public, even – seriously, you two._ “Anna,” he said gently, directing her attention away from the close-up of their two competitors kissing in the middle of a public sidewalk.

She obediently sat back, but he noticed that she was smiling too. “It’s fine, Izumo. I’ve already seen the photo from the amusement park.”

Kusanagi shot an arch look at Munakata, who let out an amused hum in response. “I can assure you, that was not my doing.”

_Kamamoto, then._ He was going to have to have a talk with those boys – again – about what it meant to be a part of bringing up a young lady. “Well, I think it’s safe to assume the final challenge was a success.”

“I would say so,” Seri commented, and smiled faintly.

“Mission complete,” Totsuka agreed, lowering and turning the phone with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Congratulations, Yata-chan. Fushimi-kun.”

There was a murmur of agreement from all around – and with that, the meeting adjourned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, with that, the mystery is solved! I hope you guys enjoyed this little addition - and that your guesses were at least mostly right. Thank you for following with me all the way through this fic! It was so amazing to me that so many people enjoyed this story. I'm very grateful!


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